


one hundred suns

by Kirta



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen, Ill figure it out later, Multi, Right?, Time Travel, also! poly future kids bc i said so, and assorted related shenanigans, and mentions of a third but they're not really important, but at least they have each other, hand-wavy magic bs, it's not relevant til like. awhile in tho, oh no theres so many relationships worth tagging, tbh there's a lot of playing fast n loose w magic bc i don't understand fe magic that well, that's gotta count for something, the future kids can't catch a break, there are two morgans in the main story, yknow after much wiki digging i dunno if there really Are rules for fe magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-10-24 08:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirta/pseuds/Kirta
Summary: A thousand years after the defeat- but not the death- of Grima, only Nah remains. The twins, Morgan & Morgan, have appeared for reasons unknown even to them. The Exalts are gone and so Nah turns to the next best method to defeat the Fell Dragon: time travel.(a longer, more in-depth version of the oneshot i did a few months ago. chrom got the last hit on grima, so the dragon will be back)





	1. prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, like the original- when all else fails, try time travel- this all grew out of one prompt from polyshipprompts on tumblr. i did the short one for polyshipweek 2019, but the au wouldn't leave me alone and well. here we are. and! i finished it!

A millennium has passed since the Fell Dragon’s last defeat at the hands of the Exalt of Ylisse. The Exalt and his allies lived on in legend for centuries, long after the halidom was folded into the expanding kingdom of Ilghan, which was in turn subsumed by the Primok Empire. Even after Ylisstol itself was leveled six hundred years after Grima’s fall, their names lived on- in new towns named for mythic heroes, in a dozen newborns every year whose name was some variant of Lissa or Robin or Chrom. 

It is unknown if the line of the Exalts survived. Ylisse had not been her own master for many years, though her rulers retained some measure of autonomy by the blessing of Naga’s Fang- though Falchion, too, is lost. The last known member of the Exalted bloodline ruled Ylisstol four hundred years ago. Rumors of the Exalts’ Heir surviving in hiding have abounded, of course, but none have made even a falsified claim to the title in the last century and a half. 

The Fire Emblem was claimed by the Empress of Primok within a week of the Last Exalt’s fall, though the five gemstones had already vanished. They have been passed through thirty noble houses great and small as wedding-prices and prizes of conquest and feats of theft and assassination, though none have ever held more than two at once since the days of the Exalts.

A millennium has passed since Chrom struck the final blow against Grima. One thousand years has the Fell Dragon slept. 

In the darkness, six eyes open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> life pro tip: if you're prone to changing plot points and/or relevant details at any point in ur story at any point in time while writing it, like me, just,,,, wait until ur done to post anything. srry to anyone who might be confused abt some changes in prologue & ch1. you just get to know a little bit more abt history earlier than everyone else now


	2. part 1: nah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most of this is lifted directly from the oneshot, so if you read that don't worry it's supposed to look like this

Three quick, light knocks bring Nah to her door. She expects Sera, asking for sugar again. Instead, she finds Morgan. And Morgan. Two of them. In identical too-big purple coats.

“Hello!” says the one on the right with a smile. “I’m sorry to bother you, but my brother and I are very hungry, and we don’t have any… well, anything. Not even memories.”

Nah stares at them. The girl is speaking Ylissean. You would be hard pressed to find more than a handful of scholars who even recognize the language anymore, outside of the more exceptionally long-lived races. Nah hasn’t heard it in centuries.

The girl’s face falls. She turns to her brother. “I don’t think she understands, either. Let’s try next door.” The boy shrugs and waves at Nah.

“Thanks anyway!” he calls as they walk away.

It takes Nah too long to collect herself. The strangers are already at Sera’s door, knocking. Nah runs after and catches them just as Sera’s door swings open. “Hello. Who are you?” Sera asks them in the Jalinn tongue. They trade a look and the boy starts with the same script they’d used at Nah’s door.

“Sera! You’ve met my cousins, I guess.” Nah rests hands on their shoulders. They turn to look at her. “They’re from…” oh of course _now_ she forgets everything about geography. “Imrynvol.” Sera cocks her head. “Across the mountains.” Nah gestures north. The nearest mountains are to the west. 

“Right,” Sera says.

“I’ll get them home,” Nah says. In Ylissean, she says: “Come on. We need to talk.” She drags the two strangers with Morgan’s face away from her neighbor’s home. Nah says nothing until she has them sitting in the kitchen of her little cottage, eating a pie she had baked the day before. Nah leans against a counter and stares at them. The only conversation they have is in looks and half-gestures.

“Thanks,” the boy says eventually. Nah nods, a little stiffly.

“No one should go hungry,” she says absently. She takes a deep breath. “Alright, then. Who are you?”

“I’m Morgan,” they both say at once. Nah blinks.

“And you’re siblings?” They nod. “Twins? With the same name.” They nod again. Nah nods back. “Very well. And where are you from?”

The twins trade glances. Nah would have read uneasiness into it if she saw it on the Morgan she had known. “We don’t know,” the boy says.

“We woke in a field together two weeks ago with no memories of our pasts,” his sister continues. “We’ve been wandering since then, but even when we found people they couldn’t understand us.”

Nah tips her head back. “Probably because the language you’re speaking was last used about five hundred years ago. There are maybe three dozen people of various races who understand it anymore.” She looks back down. “So you have no memories at all of where- or when- you might come from?” They shake their heads. “Alright.” Nah lets out a slow exhale. “Well. My name is Nah. I knew-” Glass shatters somewhere outside. Something heavier gives way with a loud crack. Nah is already moving when the first scream reaches her.

Next door, Sera’s front window has been broken out, shards of glass littering her unruly garden. Nah starts forward, calling Sera’s name. Something crawls out of the broken window. Grey. Humanoid. Glowing red eyes. _Risen._ Nah stops short, as surely as if she had hit a stone wall. _No. We won. How-_

Sera screams again. Elsewhere in the village voices are shouting out in alarm. “Sera!” Nah charges. Her dragonstone is clutched in her hand, her grip sure and ready for battle. The Risen before her seems new, unsteady and only vaguely aware of its body. It doesn’t stand a chance. 

There are two more inside the house, but Nah doesn’t see Sera. Doesn’t hear her anymore, either. Nah destroys the Risen and retreats outside. There’s smoke on the wind- the tavern is burning. The streets are _full_ of Risen. Nah doesn’t know where they came from, or why, but she does know how to kill them. Twin bolts of fire flash past beneath her dragon wings as she lifts into the air. Morgan and Morgan emerge from Nah’s cottage, arms outstretched and voices strong. Nah clears her street of the undead but there are more coming. They’re everywhere. From her vantage in the sky Nah can see them flooding from the eastern forest. There are too many- even the Shepherds would have retreated before these numbers. Half of her village is already burning. She can hear people fleeing into the trees. Some of them run straight into more Risen, though some do make it out. Nah roars her anger into the noontime sun, inappropriately bright.

Nah lands heavily in front of the twins and reverts to her human form. “There are too many. We can’t stay here.”

“But what about the rest of the village?” Morgan asks as she reduces another Risen to dust.

“We can’t fight them all,” Nah says. Her heart twists in her chest at the sight of Sera’s familiar scarf, bloody and trailing out the broken window. “We have to go.” Her voice catches. “I won’t be able to carry you for long, but it should be enough.” Nah taps into the power of her dragonstone and grows again. She lowers herself enough for the twins to clamber up and then she is off, soaring away from the massacre. One Morgan clings to her neck and the other to the spines along her back. They are silent until Nah lands in a silent clearing in the woods miles and miles from the nearest Risen.

“What now?” Morgan fiddles with a button on his coat. Nah sets her head in her hands and tells herself she can’t cry yet.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen those things in _centuries._ They shouldn’t be-” her voice fails her and her eyes burn. “They shouldn’t _be._ I thought we destroyed them all.”

“The Risen,” Morgan says quietly. She shrugs at Nah’s sharp look. “The name’s there, but I don’t know why. It’s better than nothing, though.”

“They haven’t bothered anyone since we fought Grima.” The twins both flinch at the name. “You know the Fell Dragon?” Nah asks, hearing the edge come into her voice.

They are silent for a long time. “He’s bad,” Morgan says eventually. Her voice is quieter than Nah has ever heard any Morgan be. “That’s all I know.” Her brother shrugs and says nothing more.

“Well, you have the right of it,” Nah says, equally quiet. She looks at the sky, where the first stars are beginning to shine.

A branch snaps nearby and they all flinch. Nah reaches for her dragonstone while the twins’ hands go to the hilts of swords they don’t have. A raccoon wanders into their clearing, sees them, and immediately retreats. Morgan lets out a shaky laugh.

_Naga, heed me,_ Nah prays when the twins sleep. _What is happening? Please, I already had this fight. It can’t be Grima again._ Nah waits, but she hears only silence and the breath of the forest.

\------------

It’s been nearly two years now. The Fell Dragon reigns and the Risen rule the earth, and it is all painfully familiar. Nah regroups with her twins, who have remembered nothing but fight with her anyway. They live in an ancient fortress in the wilds near Ylisstol, weather-worn and leaky in places but solid and more than big enough for the three of them. They have learned nothing and won nothing, and even the twins’ relentless optimism is wearing thin. There is no trace of Falchion or the Exalts’ bloodline. The Fire Emblem and the gemstones are out of reach. Nah organizes what little they have and thinks back to her last battle against Grima. She had been with the Shepherds, then, she and all her companions from a ruined future. They had Falchion, and the Emblem and the stones and Naga’s blessing, and they had won. Nah sits in her room and rolls her old dragonstone in her hands. She understands little of the mechanics of time travel, but it had served them well once before. Could it again? She thinks of asking Naga, who had granted them passage before, but her goddess hasn’t spoken to her in years.

She goes to the twins instead. She calls them both Morgan, since they both claim it as their name. They tell her there’s a difference in her voice depending on which of them she’s talking to, and that they can always tell, so there’s never been any confusion. Not between the three of them, at least.

The first of them she finds in the library, pitifully small compared to the royal archives of Ylisse, or even to the mobile library the Shepherds had managed to accumulate. Here and now, it’s a veritable treasure trove. Morgan is reading, humming tunelessly to herself and scribbling notes onto a cramped piece of paper. “Morgan, how much do you know about time travel?”

The answer is significantly more than Nah had expected. Morgan’s brother wanders into the library halfway through with food. “Why are we talking about time travel?” he asks.

“I have an idea,” Nah begins. She’s told them the stories of her youth, including the leap into the past. “Is it possible to reverse our travel to the past? Can we bring people from the past forward, to help us here?” The twins look at each other, and a world of things pass unsaid between them in flickers of expression.

“Maybe,” Morgan says. Her brother nods. “We’ll have to see. I’m sure there’s something here that can help us, though!” The two turn to the shelves and begin their search, and Nah swears they seem more energetic than a minute before.

Two weeks later, they come to her in the middle of the night, bags under their eyes and shoulders drooping, but smiles undimmed. “We’ve got it!”

They wait until morning at Nah’s insistence, because even to an untrained eye the magic looks _complicated,_ and probably something best attempted on a solid night’s sleep. Nah’s spent the last two weeks chasing the Risen away from their little castle while the twins worked, and she’s as tired as they are.

There’s a list of components as long as Nah’s arm, some of them rare indeed, and what looks to be several days’ worth of preparations for the ritual itself. Nah has learned something of magecraft in her time, but the twins practically breathe it. The details of this ritual are beyond Nah, but she trusts them. Besides, it’s not like anything else they’ve tried has done anything. Nah leaves the fortress, shifts into a dragon, and ranges for another week to gather everything they will need.

Morgan smiles when Nah deposits the crate carefully in the courtyard, now cleared out and lined in twisting designs in chalk and paint and something that smells too much like blood. Morgan immediately opens the crate and starts tossing the items inside to his sister, who heaps some of them at different points in the array and some in a beaten copper brazier that hadn’t been here when Nah had left and some on a worktable carried out of the castle and set at the edge of the yard. When they’re finished, Nah takes a deep breath and shifts back to her human form.

“How sure are you that this will work?” she asks. The twins shrug.

“I’d give it a solid 50%, I think,” says one. 

“So there’s an even chance it fails?” Nah says, steeling herself for a disaster.

“There’s an even chance it _works!_” Morgan insists. He pushes his hair back from his face. “There is one thing, though. I think we’ll need more energy than the two of us can provide. You said Naga opened the portal last time, right?” Nah nods. “I don’t think we can quite rival the strength of a Divine Dragon.” Nah nods again, wishing they had mentioned this _before_ she’d spent a week chasing down magical ingredients and potentially leading Grima’s scouts back to their hideout. She holds out her dragonstone, worn smooth from years of familiar hands.

“Do you think this would work?”

Morgan takes the stone and Nah can feel the faint breath of magic against her skin as he examines it. “Probably. But-” he hesitates. “What will that do to you?”

Nah shrugs. In truth, she has no idea. Her mother had once told her that manaketes were able to transfer their life force through their dragonstones, but spoke little of the consequences. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Hm.” Morgan watches her too closely. “Alright then! If you say so. Let’s get this started!” He turns to the massive design in the courtyard and begins checking it over for any overlooked detail. His sister guides Nah to an open space in the center of the array. She lights the brazier with a lazy flick of magic and takes Nah’s hands.

“We’ll handle most of this, but your part is the most important. We’re trying to summon people you know, So all of that intent will flow through you. Whatever happens, until it’s over you have to stay focused on the people you’re reaching for. Got it?” She stares into Nah’s eyes with intensity until Nah nods.

“I understand. I’m ready.” Morgan nods back and runs to the worktable and then to her brother.

“Here we go!” she shouts from across the courtyard.

Nah kneels and clasps her hands. _Naga, heed my prayer. Please, let this work. We have nothing else._ She can hear a quiet hum, beyond the range of human hearing. It emanates from the ground around her, a slow pulse, like the heart of the earth. Ancient. The twins can’t hear it- not with their nonmagical senses, anyway. Yarne would have been able to. Nah smiles at the memory of her taguel friend. So many called him coward, and while it was true he wanted nothing to do with any of their wars, he would fight for his friends and family without question. He’d done it for her, once, and she was forever grateful for his intervention that night.

The earth shakes, a shiver that barely even rattles the empty glass vials on the worktable. Nah breathes and thinks of her friends. The memories are dusty, and some of them a millennium old, but she has never forgotten them. Brady had saved her once, too, from a terrifying three feet of water, but still she was grateful. Gerome had always intrigued her, though she laughs now at her awkward first attempts at friendship with him.

Someone grunts behind her, and she turns to look. The twins are on their knees at the edge of the array and they are glowing with power. Magic dances around them, and Nah is again amazed at what they are capable of. “Nah! Stay focused!” one of them shouts at her. She turns away.

She thinks of Cynthia, endearing even when she was overbearing, of Owain, who was much the same and always so _bright._ She thinks of Lucina, their Exalt, who they followed into the unknown in their final gambit. They would have followed her to the end.

A phantom spear, cold and sharp, pierces her chest, and she can feel the power being siphoned from her dragonstone and, with surprise, she realizes she can feel Morgan’s regret. He doesn’t know if she will survive this, either. She doesn’t fight it. She lets the power flow from her and reaches for her friends from her heart.

She reaches for Severa’s thorniness and Kjelle’s solidity, for Noire’s hidden strength and Inigo’s persistence. Nah can feel her own strength waning and she redoubles her efforts. She reaches for Laurent, their constant watcher. She thinks of the Morgan she had known all those years ago, but she does not reach for them, unsure what they might mean for the twins. The strain of the magic is building. Nah can see her friends in her mind’s eye now, so clearly, and she reaches out and _pulls._ She feels something fighting her. The twins are shouting something behind her, but she squeezes her eyes shut and _pulls_ again. Again. Again. Something gives. She opens her eyes and sees a glowing circle wrenched open in the air before her. Something moves on the other side.

Nah closes her eyes again and prays. _Naga, give me strength._ She pulls again and she feels something pass her. Desperately, she reaches. For her friends, for the Shepherds, for anyone who can help them. She reaches for Chrom, because another Exalt can only help them and he was never one to turn away from the good fight. There are shouts all around her now, but she does as Morgan told her and keeps her focus. She reaches for Nowi, her mother, dead four centuries now. There is a concussive burst of sound and power, and heat growing all around her. She reaches for her father- she smells smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so the changes didn't end up being as dramatic as i thought they were. still. the point stands lmao


	3. part 2: gerome

The central mountains of Valm stretch below Minerva’s wings. They glide, far above, and Gerome enjoys the silence. If he turns, he can find the Shepherds on foot and horseback below. The sun is high and the sky is clear and the blue stretches on.

Minerva croaks in question. Gerome leans over her long neck and looks. In the mountains below, blue-white light blinks at him. He urges Minerva down and she dives. As they approach Gerome can see a hole limned in light carved into the mountainside. Minerva stops short of the hole, great wings beating in place. Gerome squints into the light. It’s roughly circular and more than big enough to fit a full-grown wyvern, and beyond, darkness.

Something moves in the beyond and Gerome squints harder. He strains to make out any detail, but can tell only that there is movement. Minerva croaks again, her head cocked, and Gerome listens closer. It almost sounds like Nah’s voice coming from the hole- but she is back with the Shepherds. Gerome saw her before he left. He leans farther out over Minerva’s neck.

The hole moves. Gerome jerks back and pulls Minerva up but it’s too late. The blue-white light rushes at them and past them and then they are falling through darkness. Minerva shrieks as she tumbles through a space where she should be the master and Gerome clings to her neck. He has lost track of the burning ring that swallowed them, but soon he spies another, this one vaguely green. Minerva is hurtling towards it, still spinning. Gerome fights her, trying to force her to stabilize through plain strength as she fights her own panic and disorientation. Finally, she rights herself, just as her feet plunge through the green portal.

Gravity reasserts itself once again and Gerome is nearly thrown from Minerva’s saddle as _back_ suddenly becomes _down_. Minerva recovers more quickly, and lands with a flare of her wings in a stone courtyard under afternoon sun. Gerome holds tightly to the saddle while his other hand finds his axe and tries to catch his breath. The courtyard before him shines with power, but it is eerily silent. He sees two dark shapes on the ground across the yard and a single bright one in the center. He urges Minerva back, away from whatever magic this is.

“Gerome!” He looks down and finds Yarne at Minerva’s shoulder. The taguel gestures at the glowing courtyard. “What’s going on?” Gerome shrugs and leans down to speak with him.

“I don’t know.”

Yarne makes a face. “How did we even get here? Where is here?”

“I don’t know,” Gerome repeats with some asperity. He catches movement in the center of the courtyard and winces as a familiar pegasus crashes into the ground, sending its rider cartwheeling through the air. Minerva squawks derisively as Yarne runs forward to help. Gerome slides from the saddle and pats Minerva’s shoulder.

“I know. You were very graceful.” She makes a contented sound and settles onto her back feet. Cynthia is already up and talking, urging Belfire up and back towards Gerome.

“Hey, Gerome! We thought some of Walhart’s archers got you!” She gives him a friendly punch in the shoulder. “I came looking for you and- well I turned up here. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” he says for the third time in as many minutes.

“Oh. Well, there was this glowing circle on the mountainside, and as soon as Belfire and I got close it jumped at us,” she pats the pegasus’s flank. “What do you think-” Cynthia is interrupted as another figure is thrown out of the air- Owain, this time. Yarne and Brady- and when did Brady get here, Gerome wonders- get Owain on his feet and started for Gerome and Cynthia but he is immediately followed by their blue-cloaked Exalt. Lucina and Owain allow themselves to be herded by the others, but they both look as if caught in a dream. Lucina’s eyes fix on Gerome and Owain is actually allowing Brady to support most of his weight. Something wary settles over Gerome.

“I don’t know what’s-” he begins, hoping to forestall the question, but Lucina throws herself at him, arms locking around him with all the strength of years of war. He hugs her back on reflex, but the bad feeling grows. It would take more than going missing on patrol to put that look on Lucina’s face. The last time he had seen it was in the Ylisstol of their time, just after- Gerome pushes Lucina back by the shoulders. “What’s happened?”

Lucina wipes at her face with the corner of her cloak. “I don’t know,” she says, voice shaking. She tries to force a smile. “But I’m not going to question it just yet.” She turns away to embrace Yarne and Gerome watches her. A hand falls on Gerome’s shoulder and Owain is there, smile less blinding than it should be but genuine all the same.

“It’s good to see you again,” Owain says.

Gerome’s mask hides his confusion. Cynthia is not so lucky. “What are you talking about? We had breakfast together just this morning.” Then again, Cynthia’s questions would give her away mask or no.

Owain shakes his head. “I’ve had some strange dreams about you guys, but this is by far the strangest.” He is staring at each of them in turn, and Gerome doesn’t like the longing in his face.

The strange portal opens again, several feet above the ground, and out tumbles Severa. She is followed by Kjelle, then Noire and Inigo and Laurent. Gerome waits for Nah to appear. She would make the last of their time travelling brigade, less only Morgan and their unique circumstances. She never appears though. Instead, the bright figure in the center of the courtyard glows ever more brightly. There are shouts from the dark figures beyond the bright but Gerome can’t make them out. The light grows and Gerome can smell smoke on the wind. A thunderclap rends the air and the entire world shakes. Gerome and his friends are thrown to the ground and the earth splits open, long cracks reaching across the stone of the courtyard. In its wake, silence. The two dark figures stand and race to the bright one, their light now extinguished. The two speak for a moment. One sweeps off their purple coat and lays it over the body of the bright one. The other comes towards their group as they recover their feet.

It’s a girl, a few years younger than most of them, with a long purple coat of her own. Gerome recognizes her face and her coat. Cynthia is the first to greet her.

“Morgan! What are you doing here?”

The girl stops short. “You know me?”

Cynthia pauses. “Er, yes? You’ve been with us for months. You look a little different, though.”

“Right.” The girl- and it is Morgan, unless the Morgan Gerome had left with the Shepherds that morning has a forgotten twin- scratches the back of her head. “Well, this is going to get confusing really fast.”

“Cynthia? Are you alright?” Brady asks. She turns.

“Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

“Because we most definitely have not had anyone named Morgan with us at any point in the last two years.”

Cynthia’s brow creases, as does Gerome’s behind his mask.

“What are you talking about, Brady?” Yarne says. “It’s Morgan. Robin’s kid?”

“What, Robin, the tactician for our parents’ war?” Severa joins in. “I didn’t even know Robin had a kid.”

Gerome watches as the conversation devolves. Cynthia, Yarne, and Kjelle insist that Morgan- or a Morgan, who goes by ‘they’- has been travelling and fighting beside the Shepherds for months. Gerome agrees. Brady, Severa, and Noire claim to have never met Morgan- or most of the other Shepherds. Lucina stays silent, listening to the conversation. Laurent is clearly trying to figure it out, eyes darting between them. Owain and Inigo watch with obvious consternation, at least until Inigo catches sight of the other two strangers approaching.

“Nah!” Inigo crashes through the arguing crowd and catches Nah in a hug. The tiny manakete girl is nearly knocked from her feet by the impact of Inigo’s hug, and by Owain’s immediately after Inigo releases her. Lucina and Laurent lose interest in the argument and focus on Nah as well. Nah looks around at them before stepping back and taking up a position in front of the twins- because the second dark figure is apparently _also_ a Morgan. Nah looks even smaller now, wrapped in his purple coat, but she doesn’t shrink when they all turn to look at her.

“It’s been nearly a thousand years since I last saw any of you,” she says. “I’m sorry you’re only here now because I need something from you.” A dozen questions take the air at the same time, but they all fall silent at a gesture from Lucina. “Honestly, I wasn’t even sure it would work, but we brought you here, now, because-” her voice catches. The Morgan who had donated his coat sets his hand on her shoulder. Lucina twitches, the motion so minute Gerome only notices because he is looking at her. Her hand is hovering near Falchion’s hilt. Nah clears her throat. “Grima has returned, and we have no one to stop him.” She holds Lucina’s gaze. “We need help. Please.” Lucina is quiet, and for once Gerome has not even a hint as to her thoughts.

“You will have to tell us more,” Lucina says at last. “But first-” her eyes narrow at the twins. “The last I knew anything of the two of you, you served Grima.” Gerome looks at her sharply, as does Yarne. “He claimed he had manipulated your memories. What do you have to say to that?”

The twins look to each other and shrug. “Maybe we did. Neither of us remember.”

Lucina blinks. “You don’t remember.”

“Nothing before turning up at Nah’s house two years ago.” Morgan smiles. Her brother offers another shrug.

Lucina drops her head and laughs once. Short. Disbelieving. “Of course. Your family has a very strange relationship with memory.”

Nah stands straighter as the twins try to hide flinches. “They have done nothing but fight Grima since I met them. They’re the reason you’re here- I couldn’t have done this without them.”

Lucina sighs. “I trust you, Nah.” She sweeps her eyes around the courtyard. “It’s just-” her face crumples, and Gerome wishes he didn’t understand the grief he sees there. “I have missed you all.” Nah looks at her feet.

“I’m sorry to drag all of you into this again. I wouldn’t have unless I had no other option.”

Lucina steps forward and pulls Nah into an embrace. “You mistake me, Nah. There is little I would not have given to see you again. I only wish it was under happier circumstances.” She gazes at their friends. “For me, most of you have been dead for months. You brought me the gemstones and the Fire Emblem, and it cost all of you dearly.” Her eyes linger on Severa. “Before the portal took me, it was Tuesday.” _Oh_, Gerome thinks. _Time travel_. He should have seen it earlier.

Owain is the one who breaks the sudden silence. “I’m from the same time. It was Wednesday.” None of his usual pretension.

The others share their own stories. Inigo and Laurent are from the same time as Lucina and Owain, months after a costly victory over the Fell Dragon, Wednesday. Severa and Noire and Brady were all en route to Ylisstol with their gemstone prizes when the portals swallowed them, and are overjoyed to see each other and know how the other groups fare. Gerome and the rest, Kjelle, Yarne, and Cynthia, hail from the Shepherds, during the war in Valm.

The light begins to fade as they talk. Nah leads them to the great hall of the castle. It had held at least two hundred, once. They number fourteen. The worries of war and time fall away as they talk and eat, and they are only friends who have not seen each other in far too long.

Gerome is struck by Lucina’s openness- she watches them and responds eagerly to everyone’s questions. She even spends some time humoring Cynthia’s theatrics. He hasn’t seen her with her walls down this far since they were children. When she thinks no one is looking, she studies their faces as if memorizing them. Owain isn’t much better. He’s quiet, which is a bad sign for him. Inigo at least is trying to engage with the others. He is at present teasing Nah for still looking like a ten-year-old, despite her claim that her age has surpassed one thousand.

“I _had_ a perfectly adult-appearing body twelve hours ago,” she replies tartly. She throws a glare at the Morgans, who are deep in conversation with Laurent. “I don’t know why I have this one, now.”

The night rolls on. Gerome can feel the hours weighing his eyelids down but fights it back. Cynthia catches his eye and winks. She yawns theatrically. “Hey, Nah, where do we sleep?”

Nah gestures aimlessly. “There are only three rooms occupied right now. Take your pick. There’s spare blankets in the pantry.”

“Great!” She grabs Owain, sitting next to her, and drags him up. “Come on, I need your help.” She ignores his token protests and pulls him after her. Five minutes later they return, both loaded down with a dozen blankets. Cynthia deposits hers by the hall’s great hearth and turns to the table, hands on her hips. “Right. We’re having a blanket pile tonight, just like we used to when we were kids.”

There are some protests, of course, Severa and Gerome among the most vocal, but Cynthia overrides them all while Owain builds up the fire with a grin. Gerome goes so far as to try to sneak off alone with a single blanket, but Lucina catches his hand.

“Please,” she says. “At least stay in here for tonight?” And he never could refuse her when she looked at him like that, without the iron that makes her their leader and leaves her just another friend. He nods. He catches her smile as she turns away and thinks she knows it, too.

In the end, they all pile together. Gerome is on the outside of the huddle, but Lucina keeps ahold of his hand all through the night.


	4. part 3: severa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> history monologue?  
history monologue

Severa wakes blanket-wrapped on a stone floor and spends five minutes remembering where she is. Noire is pressed against her back and Lucina’s foot is hooked around her ankle. Some of their friends are already up, voices quiet at the table. The large fire is all but dead, but the hall itself is warm. Severa carefully peels herself away from Noire and tries to disengage Lucina’s foot as gently as possible, hoping not to wake either of them. Most days she wouldn’t really care- if they’re bothered by her getting up, they shouldn’t sleep on top of her. There’s too much to think about today, though.

Severa rises and hop-steps over Noire, who slumbers on. She catches Lucina watching her, but the other woman closes her eyes again and pretends to be asleep. Severa rolls her eyes. The twins- and why the hell are they _both_ Morgan anyway?- are at the long table they had eaten at the night before with Yarne and Laurent and something steaming in earthenware mugs. Severa nods an acknowledgement at them and leaves the hall.

The courtyard they had been spat into is still in ruins. There are scorch marks and shallow trenches where the stone had split apart and it all still smells of smoke. Gerome’s wyvern is asleep in the stables and Cynthia’s pegasus is wandering in circles. Severa approaches Belfire and strokes his soft nose.

“What do you think about all this?” she asks him. He knickers and noses at Severa’s pockets. “Oh, lay off. I don’t have anything for you.” He pulls back with an offended horse noise. Severa sighs and pats his head. “I’ll sneak you something later. Don’t tell Cynthia.” Belfire bumps her with his head and ambles off.

Severa explores the castle, which apart from the courtyard seems wholly unaffected by yesterday’s light show. A little shabby in places, maybe, but still sound. She finds herself on the walls, watching the sun rise above the shoulders of the mountains that guard the keep’s north and east. A cool breeze rolls down the mountainside and it smells like Ylissean spring. It clears the lingering smoke from the castle and Severa breathes deep. Less than twenty-four hours ago she had been with Laurent and Gerome, racing time and the Risen back to Ylisstol. She hopes they kept going after the portal swallowed her. They probably did- they’re far too sensible not to. Severa is paradoxically glad and stung at the idea that they would leave her behind. There’s too much at stake to stop, and they knew going in that they might not all survive. Even if they do make it back to Lucina- do? did? It’s a hypothetical future for her, but to most of the others here it’s the past, one way or another. She shakes her head sharply, dismissing the idea and the whole convoluted mess of time travel.

She can hear voices drifting from the hall when the wind blows just so, and eventually she goes back down. She passes Gerome in the courtyard, tending to his wyvern, but neither of them stop the other to talk. Back inside, the rest of the group is moving and in varying stages of waking up. The twins are still talking with Laurent and a precarious stack of books has appeared on the table. Severa catches a few words and understands none of them, so she ignores the conversation altogether. Farther down the table, Lucina, Cynthia, and Kjelle are eating together. Severa locates a large pot of oatmeal, just starting to cool. Owain offers her a bowl and a smile as she approaches. Severa ignores it and gets her own. She can see Owain roll his eyes in her peripheral vision and isn’t sure whether to be annoyed or amused. She decides to be both.

Nah enters the room twenty minutes later with a large roll of paper and two thick books under her arm. Severa follows her to an unoccupied table and watches as Nah unrolls a massive, detailed map of Valm and Ylisse. She weighs down two corners with the books she carries and a third with Severa’s empty bowl. She tries to use her dragonstone to hold the last corner but the orb, worn smooth and round over the years, rolls off the table altogether. Severa catches it as it falls and pins the map to the wooden table with her dagger. Nah pauses and narrows her eyes first at the dagger and then at Severa. Severa shrugs and leans over the map. 

“Where are we?” she asks. Nah points out a small fort in the mountains north and east of Ylisstol. “Imrynvol Keep. That’s new.”

Nah laughs. “It’s almost six centuries old. It hasn’t been occupied in the last two, though- too close to Ylisstol for most people.”

Severa snorts. “What’s wrong with Ylisstol?” Nah stares at the map. “Nah?”

Nah sighs. “We might as well get everyone in here for the history lesson.” She leans back from the map and pushes her sleeves up. She’s found clothes that fit her smaller body better, but they’re still too big. Nah walks away and Severa turns back to the map. The shape of the world is familiar, but the names are all wrong. There are cities marked where she knows none to be and the borders she is familiar with are gone. Ylisstol’s place is marked, but it’s designated “ruins”. Severa draws back and finds Nah watching her. Lucina is gathering the others, moving around the room with subtle touches and a few words and they gather around the map. Severa moves aside.

Nah perches herself on a neighboring table and looks at her hands. Severa leans against a wall, arms crossed, and waits. _This should be good,_ she thinks, and tries to ignore the unease in her heart at the thought of Ylisstol in ruins.

“A thousand years ago,” Nah begins when they are settled. “We were among the last survivors of Grima’s reign. We split up to recover the Fire Emblem and the five gemstones and bring them back to Lucina, that she might perform the Awakening and kill the dragon.” This much, at least, Severa knows. “We managed to return to Ylisstol, but one of the stones didn’t make it and Falchion could only be partially Awakened. Naga offered us passage back in time to try to prevent our future from coming to pass, and Lucina led us through the portal. 

“Time travel is no exact matter, though, as we discovered. We were scattered across Valm and Ylisse, some of us arriving as much as five years apart. We eventually all joined the Shepherds, led by Lucina’s father.” A smile plays briefly on Nah’s face. “Our parents were barely older than us.” She pauses. “Well. Except for my mother. We changed less than we hoped but far more than we feared, and in the end Chrom struck down Grima.” Nah spreads her hands. “After the battle, we lived out our lives in the past in peace.”

There is silence. _So we win,_ Severa thinks. _One way or another._ She contents herself with the thought and nods. _That’s all we wanted, in the end._

“That accounts for the first century, give or take a few decades,” Laurent says. “But what of the other nine?”

Nah takes a breath and when she speaks again her voice is clinical. Scholarly. “There is always another war, another Conqueror. Ylisse was taken by force twice over. Plegia fared slightly better because most have little use for the deep desert, but it too has at least nominally been a subject of outside powers since the third century after Grima’s fall. Regna Ferox still exists, but it’s a shadow of what it was under Flavia and Basilio. The Julinn kingdom now claims most of the territories that once belonged to the halidom, but no one has exercised any kind of power over the region since- since the destruction of Ylisstol.”

“Destruction?” Lucina repeats sharply. Nah examines her folded hands.

“Ylisstol was levelled four hundred years ago. There were only a handful of survivors. No one has any idea what happened.” Her voice gets quieter. “I still haven’t been back. My mother was there when it happened. I don’t-” she takes a deep, shuddering breath. Lucina sets a hand on her shoulder. The silence that follows is deafening. Lucina’s face is closed and Owain’s is stricken. Gerome’s is hidden by that damn mask of his. Brady is crying, which isn’t surprising but is far too close to what Severa’s feeling just now.

“So?” she asks bluntly. Everyone turns to look at her but she doesn’t back down. “I mean, I’m sorry about your mom, Nah, really, but what exactly does this have to do with us?”

“Severa-” Yarne begins, but she ignores him.

“I mean, it’s not _our_ Ylisstol, and that’s not why we’re here, is it?” She looks at Nah. “You said this happened four hundred years ago, right?” Nah nods, face set. “If there was something we could _do_ about it, you wouldn’t have waited this long to summon us. So, let’s forget about it for now and move on.”

“Severa-” 

“No.” Nah interrupts this time. “No, she’s right. It’s not your city. I hadn’t even visited in fifty years- it was barely even mine. The point is, only the bravest, greediest, or most desperate looters have so much as looked at the ruins in ages. There was no warning when it happened- everyone was afraid to get too close for three generations for fear it would happen again. Anymore, people avoid it mostly out of habit.

“Grima is another matter, however. The Shepherds were told that if it was Robin who struck the final blow, Grima could be killed for good- and Robin with him. If it was Chrom, the Fell Dragon would only be driven to sleep and would eventually return. Our time ran out two years ago. Just before the twins wandered into my village, in fact.

“When Ylisstol fell, no one knew what became of the Exalts’ line. They were respected as Naga’s chosen even when the halidom was only a province of the Primok Empire, and maintained Ylisstol as their seat of power. No one heard from them in the weeks after the disaster, and it was assumed they were all dead.”

“Is it possible they simply went into hiding?” Laurent asks.

Nah shrugs. “If they did, I have no idea where. I have heard nothing- or at least, nothing credible- in four hundred years.” She hops down from her table and approaches the map again. “The Ylissean continent is all but overrun by Grima’s forces. Most of the survivors are hidden even from each other- it’s like it was before. We need to beat Grima, but this future has no Exalts. That is where, I hope, you come in.” Nah looks around at them, ending on Lucina. “Please. Will you help me?”

Silence stretches again as eyes turn towards Lucina. Awaiting their princess’s decision. Severa rolls her eyes at the lot of them and steps forward. “I’ve been fighting Grima all my life. Why would I stop now?” She gives Nah a grin full of teeth. “I’m no Exalt, but I’ll help as much as I can.”

It’s as if a spell has been broken, and one by one the others add their pledges to Severa’s. Lucina is the last to speak, drawing Falchion and raising it before her face, blade to the ceiling. She whispers something Severa can’t make out and the blade bursts into white flame. Lucina twirls the blade so that the point, still burning, rests on the floor of the hall. “I would be a poor friend and a poorer Exalt to abandon you to the Fell Dragon. My Falchion has already been Awakened- it seems we need only find Grima and end him.” Nah is watching them with wide eyes, as if she can’t quite believe they’re agreeing. _Really, was she expecting us to say no?_ Severa thinks.

“Thank you,” Nah says quietly. She returns to the map and clears her throat. She points. “As best I can tell, the first Risen attacks started here, near the old Feroxi Arena.”

“Not Plegia?” Lucina asks.

Nah shakes her head. “I don’t believe so. I haven’t been able to learn much, though. Grima seems content to roam the skies above Regna Ferox. He doesn’t roam south of the Longfort very often, but it does happen.”

Morgan steps forward with a handful of pebbles. “We know there’s a few pockets of human resistance holding out here, here, and here.” He places the pebbles on the map. “They might be able to help us find Grima. At the very least, they should be able to point us in a direction.”

“What if they don’t want to talk to us?” Kjelle asks. She leans on her spear and examines the map. “There were more than a few people who turned us away in our time.”

The other Morgan grins and tips her head at Nah. “Nah may or may not have threatened to turn into a dragon on them if they kept turning away perfectly non-Risen people who just needed a place to stay.” Nah mutters something unflattering about the survivors in question and Kjelle laughs.

Severa turns at a tap on her shoulder and finds Noire, Brady behind her. “Severa? Can I talk to you for a minute?” Severa nods slowly and allows Noire to pull her by the hand from the hall. The others barely seem to notice their departure.

“What’s the matter?” Severa asks once they’re several rooms away, well out of earshot of anyone in the hall. Noire hugs herself.

“The three of us were all on our way back home with the gemstones, right?”

“Ye-es,” Severa says, eyeing Noire.

“Right. So, uh. Where are your gemstones?”

Severa cocks her head. “Gerome was carrying our stone and the Emblem. Why?”

Noire ignores the question and turns to Brady. “What about you?”

“We gave ours to Yarne. He’s miles faster than any of us,” Brady crosses his arms and nearly hits Severa with his staff. “Who has yours?”

“Well, Kjelle has one of them. Nothing gets through her armor.”

Severa’s watching Noire with dawning realization. “And the other?”

Noire holds out her hands. There is an orb cupped between her palms that pulses with dim red light. “Gules. The Lifestone.” Brady curses and Severa takes a breath. “What are we supposed to do with this?”

“I’d say we should get it back right now, but I have no idea how we’d go about doing that,” Brady says.

“We just have to keep you alive long enough to get the resident geniuses to send us back to our past,” Severa says with more authority than she feels. “If we can do that, it’ll be fine.”

“You really think so?” Noire says doubtfully. “Nah was just saying how inconsistent time travel is.”

Severa folds Noire’s hands over the stone. “Just hold onto it. It’ll be fine.” She hopes Noire believes the words more than she does. “I’ll make sure you get back in one piece.” Noire holds the stone to her chest and nods. “Good?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

They return to the hall together and find Laurent making a case for visiting Ylisstol.

“Isn’t that the opposite of ignoring it and focusing on the dragon problem?” Brady mutters. Severa scowls at Laurent, because Brady is exactly right.

“I think there is something to be learned there,” Laurent is saying. He has a book open in one hand and is gesturing broadly with the other. “Nah, you say here that at least a dozen survivors claim to have seen a glowing circle with a center of darkness appear over the city before the collapse. By straight description, it’s almost identical to the portals that the rest of us encountered when you summoned us here. That alone would make it worth investigating.” 

Nah shakes her head. “Laurent, it was four hundred years ago. That’s no short time, even for a manakete.”

“You were the one who told us that time travel is often unpredictable at best,” Laurent maintains. He looks to the twins. The boy is watching the conversation like a sports match while his sister stacks the books that have made their way to the hall. One has a strip of red cloth tied around his head like a headband and the other has a strip of blue tied in a bow on her arm. “You two have done research into the matter of time travel, have you not?”

One Morgan nods as she places another book on the stack. “If you’re going to all the trouble of time traveling, you can go a day back as easily as a century. Not that it’s necessarily easy, but it’s no more difficult to jump longer temporal distances than short ones, because in the end you’re still time travelling.” She turns to face Laurent. “It’s not like physical distance. The hard part is dislodging sometthing from it’s spot in time- and some things can’t be dislodged at all. After that, it’s just a matter of putting it where you want it, but that’s really more of a guided toss than actually setting it down.”

Severa looks at Brady, but his eyes are as glazed over as hers feel. Most of their friends wear the same expression. 

Laurent bows his head to Morgan. “There you have it. It doesn’t necessarily matter when it happened. Time travel is a strange phenomenon.” Nah still doesn’t look convinced.

Lucina clears her throat. “Whether or not we find anything, I would like to see the city.”

Nah looks at her. “Are you sure?” she asks quietly. “Is that actually something you want to see?” Lucina nods, her jaw set. Nah looks around the room and seems to deflate. “We’ll have to watch for Risen the whole way there. We’ll need to scavenge some supplies along the way, as well- we didn’t keep enough on hand for this many people at once.”

They scatter after that, and Severa approaches the twins, who are now gathering the books that had fallen from the stack when it got too tall. “What’s with the…” Severa gestures vaguely at the strips of fabric. The blue seems to be the same shade as Lucina’s cloak. “Decoration?”

The red-headbanded Morgan shakes his head. “Cynthia said it was too confusing trying to talk to us when we use the same name,” he says sourly. “So she found these and tied them on.”

Severa nods. “If the color-coding bothers you, have you considered using different names?”

“Why should either of us change our name?” Blue-bow Morgan says, offended. “They’re ours. And it’s one of the only things we remember.”

Severa shrugs. “Alright. See you around.” She waves and leaves them be. _Fair enough reason, I suppose. Still, Cynthia’s right. It_ is _confusing for the rest of us._


	5. part 4: laurent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short travel and chat chapter

The rest of the morning is spent organizing and taking inventory of the castle’s supplies and whatever they had in their packs when they entered the portals. After a sturdy lunch they set out, and by that night they have made it well out of the mountain foothills. The summer air was warm even in the mountain keep, and in the lowlands it’s enough to force many of them out of their heavier travel cloaks. Their surroundings alternate between old forest and open fields, blending into abandoned farmsteads and long-fallow fields as they near the old capitol. They encounter no one, human or Risen, though the wildlife at least is abundant. Forage is plentiful, and before they are halfway to Ylisstol they have filled out their provisions with wild berries and excess meat from kills brought in most often by Noire and Nah. Gerome and Cynthia trade off watching their party from the air. Laurent watches from the ground, as he always has.

Severa, Noire, and Brady watch the trees as if any one might conceal a Risen army, and they eat as if they can’t be sure they will have another chance. Kjelle walks as if she has grown used to many allies at her back, armored footsteps heavy and eyes forward. Yarne is still anxious more often than not, but some of the constant strain Laurent had seen in him six months ago is missing now. Gerome, too, is more relaxed, though he still keeps his distance. Cynthia is, if possible, more irrepressible than she had been before, spinning wild stories with Owain to pass the time as they walk and walk. Inigo and Owain both are regaining some of the spark Laurent has missed in them since the final battle in their own time. Seeing their friends again has done them good- Laurent knows he and Lucina make poor companions for their exuberance at the best of times.

Lucina herself tries to watch them all at once. She is half the time afraid they will vanish into mist if she looks away, and the other half determined not to lose them again. She admits as much to Laurent as they gather firewood together one night. She asks how he is, and he finds he doesn’t have a good answer. He is glad to see the others again, of course, and it feels like the massive hole they left heals over just a little more every day that he wakes and finds them still near. Nah’s story worries him, though. The fact that they have been called here to fight Grima once again is ironic more than anything else, but Ylisstol’s destruction still itches at him. It’s more than just the idea of the home he and his friends had fought and died for still coming to ruin (or so he convinces himself). The totality of the disaster, the city and its people and all traces of anything or anyone that could defeat the Fell Dragon scattered or thoroughly erased- there has to be more to it than what the survivors could tell.

Laurent spends many evenings on the road with the twins. Their preparations for the great ritual that summoned the rest of them had by necessity given them as much of an expertise on time travel as it is possible to have and Laurent learns as much as he can from them. Their conversation often wanders from the original point, but Laurent doesn’t mind. He hasn’t been able to have conversation like this since his mother died. He loves Lucina and the others dearly, but the simple fact is that they aren’t mages by trade.

Gerome falls in at Laurent’s side five days out from Imrynvol Keep. Laurent covers his surprise and waits for Gerome to speak, but the other man says nothing. He just watches Laurent, as if expecting something. “Did you need something, Gerome?” Laurent ventures after several minutes.

“How are we doing?”

Laurent can’t keep this surprise from his face, but he clears his throat and answers. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. I’ve seen no physical injuries among us thus far, and we seem to be adjusting to the time differences well enough. As far as supplies go, we have the weapons we brought with us and little else. We are not at all lacking for food, thank Naga.” He looks more closely at Gerome’s face, but the mask hides much. “Why do you ask? More specifically, why ask me?”

Gerome’s mouth turns down at the corners. “Because you always-” he stops. Thinks. “You’re always watching us. I figured you would know.” He mutters something about “gods-damned time travel” and lapses into silence.

High above them, Cynthia whoops from atop Belfire and dives sharply, coming to land on a long, grassy hill rising ahead of the group. Their pace quickens and when they crest the rise, Lucina gasps softly and Owain laughs in delight.

A green bowl spreads below them, divided by a wide, shallow stream. A line of trees forms the southern edge of the field opposite them and to the west rise a series of sharp cliffs impassable to humans on foot. The stream crashes down from the cliffs and flows east towards another tall hill. The true centerpiece, however, is the pegasi. There are dozens of them- in the air, at the water, on the cliffs. Belfire whinnies loudly and glides down from their hill, ignoring Cynthia’s protests as she chases after him. Morgan sprints down the hill after Cynthia, her brother on her heels and their blue and red streamers flapping from their arms. Nah, Owain, and Yarne follow at a run, laughing, while the rest of them descend at a more sedate pace.

They spend the rest of the day in the valley with the pegasi. Cynthia unsaddles Belfire and he chases his kin through the skies. Morgan quickly befriends a pitch-black mare who won’t stop trying to eat her hair. She giggles and swats the pegasus away, but it always returns. Severa can’t seem to escape the attentions of no less than three separate pegasi, two of them obviously juveniles and the third full-grown but still young. Minerva spends some time flying with the younger pegasi, but eventually she lands by Gerome and snaps warnings at any of the older pegasi that wander too close. Gerome pats her fondly.

Laurent sits in the grass and watches the setting sun play on the slow stream. He thinks about his conversation with Gerome. Laurent wonders at what Gerome had been expecting from him, and at why. Gerome had mentioned time travel. Laurent thinks back to the realities they hail from and realizes that Gerome and his companions would be the oldest of them- excepting Nah, of course- for all Laurent feels like that title should be for him and his. He wonders what arrangement another version of himself might have had with Gerome. He wonders, for that matter, what relationships any of them might have had with Gerome’s group. The thought trips him. _Had_ any of them had relationships? They would of course have had relationships in the sense that they had known and interacted with each other, but that wasn’t quite the same as being _in a relationship._ Laurent is surprised the question hasn’t crossed his mind until now, but then again the whole situation is strange enough already...

Nah interrupts his swirling thoughts with a bowl of steaming stew. She sits beside him with a bowl of her own. He sniffs it cautiously. It’s pleasant-smelling, with just a hint of spice. 

“Severa cooked tonight, don’t worry.” Nah eats her own stew in silence. Laurent doesn’t mind, still largely stuck in his own thoughts.

“Morgan says it’s missing something, but I’ve no idea what it could be,” Nah says when she is finished. She leans back on her hands and watches the twins chase the black pegasus around. They’re making a good go of it, though any time they get too close the pegasus takes to the air. “This used to be called Emmeryn’s Vale- Imrynvol to the Primoks. They built the fort we’ve been using to guard the mountain pass into Ylisstol’s province.” She frowns into the distance. It’s clear she’s not seeing the tree-bound horizon at all. “It’s strange, how quickly we adjust to some things. It feels as if I was with the Shepherds just yesterday, now that you’re all here. Sometimes I wish- well.” She falls silent again.

“Sometimes you wish what?” Laurent prompts after a moment.

Nah shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If it didn’t matter, then it wouldn’t be bothering you,” Laurent points out. 

Nah sighs. “I’ve wished to see you all again many times. Now that you’re here, I wish you could stay. But you can’t, can you? At the least, not everyone can stay. Lucina is Exalt in your time, and she has Falchion. What happens if she vanishes for good?”

The sun vanishes beyond the cliffs. “I don’t claim to be an expert on time travel, but I suspect that even if it had no calamitous effect on the flow of time, the Ylisse of our time would suffer without leadership. We have only just begun to rebuild.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Nah says. She wraps her arms around her legs and rests her chin on her knees. “It may be selfish,” she admits, “but even if it’s not to death, I don’t want to lose you again.”

“If it’s selfishness, then I fear we are both guilty of it,” Laurent says. Nah looks at him, surprised. He smiles. “Lucina, Owain, Inigo, and myself all lost the rest of you to the battle.” He feels his smile turn sad. “None of us have been well, and quite honestly I don’t want to go back to a world where I watched you die. However, it seems we have little choice in the matter.”

They fall silent, watching the stars come out together. “Of course, it’s all pointless worry if Grima kills us all,” Nah says eventually, quiet enough Laurent has to do a double take to make sure she’s talking to him.

“Yes, I suppose death would make all of this rather redundant.”

They return to the others to sleep for the night. The pegasi see them off in the morning with friendly nudges and a great shuffle of wings. A young grey and white pegasus noses at Nah’s ear until she turns on it with a glare.

“I could eat you for breakfast,” she growls, and Laurent can see her teeth, longer and sharper than typical for her human form. The pegasus snorts and backs away and Nah relaxes.

They reach Ylisstol late that night. The city could almost be sleeping in the starlight, but there is no flare of orange torchlight in the streets, no smoke from houses in the town. They make camp on a hill outside the city, but Laurent knows none of them truly sleep, despite the wear of days of travel. They rise early, and in the pre-dawn grey they gaze upon the ruins of their home.


	6. part 5: lucina

Ylisstol is shattered. The walls are crumbled or else crushed, the proud spires of the palace toppled. In the early morning, the city is as grey as any of the Risen. _And we haven’t even made it to the gates_, Lucina thinks. Nah is at her elbow, face impassive.

“Are you sure you want to go down there?” Nah asks quietly.

Lucina shakes her head, eyes fixed on the city. Her home. “Not at all, but I will. What about you?”

Nah shrugs a shoulder. “I should have come back years ago. I will not back down now.” Lucina nods. She shoulders her pack and starts across the open field. The others spread out behind her, pushing through grass grown tall, unchecked by blade or boot. Even Cynthia and Gerome are on foot today, their mounts quiet at their sides. They do not speak and the wildlife makes no sound. It is utterly silent but for the brush of leg against grass.

Lucina stops at the grand front gates, now a twisted ruin at her feet. They are more rust than metal. Lucina steps over them and crosses into the city. A cold wind blows over her and she shivers violently. She can hear her friends following her and draws strength from their faith. They don’t follow her because she has asked it of them- here, especially, she wouldn’t ask it of them, but they follow her into the city all the same.

The broad avenue is grey with ash and the storefronts are all crushed as if by a mighty hand from above. They process slowly up the street, each step an eternity as they take in the devastation. Lucina watches the buildings, her entire body ready for a fight, but she can hear nothing. 

They come to a building whose ruin looks fresh. The edges of broken stone and glass are still sharp and smoke rises from charred wood. Lucina stops.

“I thought you said no one comes here,” she says to Nah.

Nah is scanning their surroundings. Her dragonstone is in her fist. “They don’t, not for anything less than the threat of death. And sometimes not even then. I suppose the Risen threat could have driven people in, but that doesn’t explain-”

There’s a laugh behind them. They both spin, but there is no one there. Their friends have spread out around the smoking house, hands on weapons. Nah and Lucina look at each other.

There’s a shriek beyond the house, where one of the larger alleys should have run. Owain and Severa are already moving. Lucina calls after them but they are already over the house’s garden wall. She charges, Falchion in hand, but when she looks down from atop the wall there is no one. Owain and Severa stand in the alley, blades drawn, backs to each other, but they are alone. 

The alley itself is miraculously clear of rubble, so they follow it towards the palace. Again and again they hear voices in the ruins, but by the time they reach the source the speaker is gone. Everyone’s weapons are drawn by the time they finally break into a broad square. The buildings that encircle the plaza have been blown outwards. The ring of destruction is centered on the great fountain that dominates the open space. The fountain itself is pristine- the water of its pool is still clean and clear, and the three figures that stand over it are as fresh as the day they were first sculpted. Lucina recognizes the statue of her father, of course- he stands tall, Falchion drawn, the Exalt’s Brand in exact detail on his stone shoulder. Beside him stands Robin, one hand holding an open book and the other outstretched. The third is Lucina herself, albeit several years older than she is now, and she stops short when she realizes. Brady stumbles over her and nearly faceplants before Kjelle grabs and rights him without breaking stride. The stone Lucina also holds Falchion, and when she inches closer the flesh Lucina sees the sculptor included the Brand in her eye. Lucina steps away from the fountain as the others file into the square. The Morgans approach the fountain and immediately fix on the statue of Robin.

“Mother?”

“Father?”

They speak simultaneously, then turn to each other with identical expressions of confusion. Lucina looks at the statue again. She supposes the statue could be taken as either. She touches her pendant through her cloak. It’s unmistakeably Robin, but not quite as Lucina had known the tactician. She turns to the twins.

“So you remember that much, at least,” she says, wry. “I don’t suppose you’ve remembered anything else, by chance?”

Morgan shakes his head. “Sorry,” his sister says. Lucina shrugs.

“It is what it is,” she says.

“Lucina,” the boy says. “What exactly are you hoping we remember? There’s something particular you’re looking for. What is it?”

“Nah never told you?”

“Told us what?”

“I suppose it might not even be true for her,” Lucina says to herself. Louder, she says: “In my time, Robin was my mother, and I had a little brother named Morgan. He disappeared two months after the remnants of the Shepherds left to die in battle with Grima.” Morgan stares at her and Lucina turns away. “And the next I heard of him, he was leading an attack on my friends at Grima’s behest. Cynthia told me he had fallen in the battle before she-” Lucina cuts herself short and takes a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not him. And you certainly aren’t,” she adds, nodding at the other Morgan. “Although,” she tilts her head. “I remember there was talk of twins at one point. It didn’t last long, though.” She forces a shrug. “Maybe you’re a version of my brother, maybe not. Either way, you don’t remember, so…”

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Then he flashes that brilliant smile that she remembers so well from her childhood. “Well, maybe I am your brother. And maybe she’s your sister, too. Time is weird and we sure don’t know anything to the contrary. D’you want me to try being your brother for awhile? I’ve had a little bit of practice being a brother in the last couple years.” He looks at his sister, who is grinning too. “What do you think?”

“I’m not _really_ sure how to be a little sister, but I’m willing to try,” she says. They both look up at Lucina.

She can’t help the surprised laugh that escapes her, and the smile that cracks her face is real. “I think... that would be nice. We can try, I think.” She’s nearly thrown off her feet by the double impact of the twins coming in for a hug. “Careful! Sword!” She angles Falchion back behind her as much as she can with her arms pinned to her sides by her enthusiastic new siblings.

“Sorry!” They pull back, still grinning, and Lucina can only shake her head and smile. She decides not to point out that Morgan- her sister, she supposes- had called Robin father. Not right now, at least. She will be lying if she tells herself she hasn’t missed being an older sister.

“Lucina!” Inigo calls from the other side of the square. She runs to him, the twins at her heels. He’s staring down the street that leads to the palace. Half a block from the plaza, smooth paving stone turns abruptly to a broken, dirty mess. A hazy, indistinct figure is moving down the street in their direction, but as soon as it crosses the boundary between broken and unbroken, it vanishes. “This is the third time it’s happened. The first was too fast to be sure, but I got a better look the second time.” As they watch, two more figures, smaller, running, appear, hit the border, and vanish. “Lucina, what’s going on here?” Inigo asks her very quietly, but she can only shake her head.

The others are drifting in their direction and they stand, transfixed by the disappearing people. Yarne and Nah turn from the strange scene and eventually Lucina becomes aware of a faint sound behind them. It grows quickly, the sound of groaning metal and wind in a canyon and echoes in an empty church. They turn to face the fountain. Above the statues purple-black light shines down without source, and Robin’s coat now matches those worn by the twins. The noise builds and Yarne tries to cover his ears. With a sudden detonation a wave of purple-black shoots out from the statues, which themselves explode in shards of jagged marble. The sound of cracking stone fills the air, and a hundred screams ride the purple wave. Lucina covers her face as it rushes at them, faster than they could ever hope to run. It passes over them without effect. Not even a breath of wind accompanies it, and when they look back, the statue is whole and perfect again.

“What in Naga’s name was that?” Owain breathes as they stand straight once more. No one has an answer.

“Let’s go,” Lucina says, forcing the tremor out of her voice. No one questions her and she leads them away from the plaza, towards the visions of people.

Nothing happens when they cross the stone border. Every few minutes a ghostly shape will appear before them or in their midst, all moving towards the border, all vanishing as soon as they step across the line. Lucina watches the figures. Apparitions? Ghosts? She’s not sure. They range from the barest outline, almost a heat mirage, to mostly-solid with faded colors like a painting left too long in the sun. Some are very clearly panicked and fleeing from something. Some are wearing fashions Lucina doesn’t recognize. She sees a child run past, a thin scream marking her passage but so faint it could easily be missed. Behind the child comes a soldier in Plegian colors. As they near the grand market that she had frequented as a young girl, the ghosts increase in number. Lucina swears she catches a glimpse of her aunt Emmeryn- who she recognizes only from art and her father’s descriptions- and once herself as a child, and once Owain as an old man with a cane. The others are pointing out people as they see them. The street opens into the market, and here some of the figures are more than washed-out shades. One man, almost real enough to touch, looks in their direction.

“My goodness, what are you lot doing out so late? You should have been in bed hours ago!”

_He sees us_, Lucina thinks, just before the man turns and walks off, flickering back into the washed-out, nearly transparent blur that they had first encountered. Lucina has just barely relaxed when a voice shouts at her from the left.

“Lady Lucina! What are you doing down here? Your son’s ceremony starts in half an hour! Let’s get you back to the palace.” A ghostly woman Lucina doesn’t recognize grabs her arm- physically _grabs it and pulls her in the direction of the palace._

_“The what? My what?!”_

_The woman bears a striking resemblance to Frederick, in bearing if not in face. She frowns at Lucina. “Oh come now, my lady, surely you didn’t forget? Your husband is waiting- and so is young Rokar.”_

_Lucina tries to pull away from the woman, but her grip is like iron. Lucina looks around for her friends, but they aren’t in sight. Neither is the ruined city. Instead, she sees Ylisstol in all its glory, like she remembers from her youngest days. The people in the market are solid, but every now and then she catches a flicker of the faded tones of the ghosts._

_“Really, my lady, such behavior is not befitting an Exalt,” the woman chides. “Just come with-”_

_“Let go of me!” Lucina breaks the grip with desperate strength and years of training. She stumbles away from the woman and back into_ the real, where she staggers and falls to the ground. She never expected the sight of Ylisstol in ruins would be so comforting.

“Lucina!”

Her friends surround her and pull her to her feet, all of them speaking at once.

“One of the ghosts reached out and grabbed you-”

“-just disappeared-”

“-the same weird colors-”

“-thought we lost you.”

Lucina shakes off the well-meant hands and holds her head, which is suddenly pounding in time with her frantic heartbeat. 

“Hey! Shut your mouths for a minute, will you?” Lucina sinks back to the ground as Brady shouts the others down, and she is grateful for the silence. She looks up as Brady kneels before her.

“How do you feel?” he asks her gently. She shakes her head once and tries to find her voice. The pain in her head is already easing, at least. 

“I’m fine. I just- I saw something. Or I went somewhere? I’m not sure. She grabbed me, and suddenly I was in Ylisstol. It was different. Whole. The woman was talking about a husband, and my son, and some ceremony. She recognized me- she called me by name.” Lucina takes a deep breath. She can feel their eyes on her but she can’t bring herself to look up yet.

“As if this place wasn’t weird enough already,” Brady mutters. He eyes Lucina. “You mind if I take a quick look at you anyway?” She nods, mostly to buy time to recover herself. The blue stone set into Brady’s staff glows as he sweeps it along her body. After a minute he raises his staff and shrugs, satisfied. “Well, you seem alright in the body at least. How ‘bout in the head?”

“I’m ok. Honest. It was just… surprising.” She accepts the hands this time, and soon they’re passing through the market, alert for any ghost that seems too intent on them.

The shades change again as they near the cathedral to Naga that sits just outside the palace grounds. Instead of isolated persons interacting with others invisible to their eyes, entire scenes with multiple participants are played out before them. There is a priest bearing Naga’s symbols speaking to a crowd of thirty people. A family bundled against winter snows pushes forward against an invisible gale. There’s more sound to these, too- two soldiers argue with a trio of teenagers in a language Lucina doesn’t understand. Nah says it’s Primok, the language of the last empire to conquer Ylisse. They move on.

They make it to the palace grounds, which flicker between broken and burning and beautiful at random. Lucina looks when Nah starts cursing and finds herself looking _up_. The child-manakete she has known is gone, and in her place is an adult woman in clothes that are suddenly far too tight. The grounds around them burst into fire, and Lucina can feel the heat from real flames. Nah flickers back to her young self with more cursing. Nah shakes her head and presses forward.

In the halls of the palace they find the first bones. They are heaped in corners and scattered across the floors. Some of them are obviously centuries old, while others are still red and some are still half-embedded in flesh. Lucina tries very hard not to look at the faces of the full bodies. The halls flash between varying states of repair as they walk, taking the smell of blood and smoke and dust with them. Nah is still jumping between ages and appears to have given up on her clothes entirely. She’s draped in Morgan’s purple coat, currently a good fit on her teenage body. She appears to be the only one affected by the time slip. Lucina’s feet lead her unerringly to her own rooms and her friends follow behind.

They’re just as she remembers them. The bed, the bookshelf, the weapon rack for the mock-up of Falchion her father had gifted her so that she would stop trying to steal the actual blade.

An otherworldly Lissa steps through a closed door and sees Owain. She runs to him, arms open, and he vanishes, barely visible in the shadows. A minute later he appears on the other side of the room, face wet. Lucina pushes the balcony doors open and steps out. The city spreads out below her and it is full of ghosts. She can see the fountain from earlier. The purple-black lights bursts again, and in its wake the statues reform.

Arms close _around her waist and a chin settles on her shoulder. She turns and Inigo is there. He’s a bit older than the one she knows, with new scars and a few creases in his face. A ring glints from his finger in the setting sun._

_“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? We should go down to the lake tomorrow. We can-” Lucina wrenches herself _away and the world is gray and it is nearly noon and Gerome is standing at her shoulder.

“We shouldn’t stay here,” he says. Lucina nods agreement.

“Laurent,” she calls back into the bedroom. “Have you seen what you wanted to see here?”

“Mostly,” he says. He’s examining the bookshelf across from her bed. He takes a book and the cover flickers. He makes a face and puts it back. “There is one thing I want to try. It may take some time, however, and I’ll need the twins’ assistance.”

“What do you need?”

“Time. That is all. We might be able to see what happened when the city was destroyed. I would much rather discover this on our own terms, rather than by being sent back to the day itself by an over-friendly ghost.”

Lucina nods. “We’ll watch you. Work quickly, if you can. I’d rather not stay here any longer than absolutely necessary.”

Laurent bows his head and moves aside with the twins. The rest of them set up in Lucina’s old bedroom. They eat a cold lunch while Laurent and the twins work, occasionally interrupted by the ghosts. Yarne flickers out twice, once for only a few seconds and the second for ten minutes. Severa goes once, and Brady. Owain disappears twice more, each one leaving him more upset than the last. Inigo sits with him for awhile, until Inigo, too, flickers. The room itself, at least, is mercifully stable, locked into Lucina’s memory of the place for whatever reason. 

She avoids most of the ghosts who reach for her, but she doesn’t see the child until it’s too late. They reach for _her, and the room is a nursery, and the child is pulling on her hand for attention. If she concentrates, she can see the faintest outline of her friends in the real, more ghostlike than the ghosts who keep grabbing them. She looks down._

_“Grandma, where’s Grandpa?”_

_A door swings open and Gerome, old and grey but still strong, enters. “I’m right here.” Lucina pulls her hand_ from the child’s and takes a breath.

Two hours later, their mages have set up a small but intricate array on a table in the center of the room. Lucina doesn’t understand any of the symbols, but she trusts Laurent and follows his instructions without question. When everyone is in place (which for the most part means _out of the way_), the mages join hands and close their eyes. The array between them flashes once and they open their eyes again. It’s rather anticlimactic, considering how long they spent working on it. They rush out to the balcony and gaze up at the sky. Lucina follows. 

In the sky, a massive purple-white circle has appeared. In its center is nothing but darkness. Lucina’s heart sinks. It looks like the portals that brought them here, but there is something _wrong_ to this, undefined and indescribable to someone lacking magical training. She looks out at the ruins of Ylisstol once more. After all that she and her friends have fought for, across time and space and reality, is this really all they can hope for? Putting off the utter ruin of their home? Conquered and passed around by outsiders, only to be flattened by some formless, unknown enemy six hundred years after their own war? _It’s all so pointless_, she thinks. She is about to turn away when a voice with the weight of the ages rumbles from the void.

“_I am the wings of despair._” And oh, does she know that voice. It has haunted her dreams for years. Someone grabs her hand and she grips it tight. “_I am the breath of ruin._”

“_I am the Fell Dragon, Grima._”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'wow the future kids really need a break' i say, writing something where they get the exact opposite of that


	7. part 6: morgan (red)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i did pick the morgans' ribbon colors to match their colors in feh. this one's m!morgan, red. one of my best characters in feh, tbh

Lucina has Falchion in hand, the blade blazing with white fire. She grabs Morgan’s shoulder and tries to drag him back inside, but he plants his feet and holds to the railing.

“Morgan, come on!” There’s real fear, terror even, under the command, but Morgan ignores it and watches the sky.

“It’s not real, Lucina,” Laurent says.

“What do you mean?” she demands.

“It’s a projection,” Morgan explains. He doesn’t take his eyes off of the giant circle in the sky. “It focuses the memories that are floating through the city of that day and makes them visible. It’s no more real than the ghosts.”

“The ghosts that have been physically touching us and taking us to different times?”

“Er.” Morgan looks over at Lucina. Falchion still burns, but she’s lowered it to her side. “Yeah. Those ghosts.” None of them had so much as looked at him or his sister. “The point is, it’s just a show. We made sure it wouldn’t physically interact with us.” Lucina relaxes, but only a fraction.

No breeze touches their faces, but the sound of roaring wind is all around them. Down in the city, people emerge from intact houses, all of them outlined in a faint white light. They point at the sky. More than one person screams. Morgan watches the portal. Two points appear from the darkness. They extend further and further, becoming two long, twisting horns. A monstrous fanged mouth follows, gaping wide, and above it one, two, three pairs of glowing red eyes. Morgan feels the blood drain from his face. He knows this creature. He would know it even without Nah’s stories and all the artists’ depictions he’s seen over the last two years. He doesn’t know why. He reaches for his sister and finds her already reaching back.

The Fell Dragon’s mouth opens, and he _breathes_. Purple-black ruin rains down upon the memory of Ylisstol as Grima’s breath rakes down the center of the city. At its widest point the breath flattens two city blocks at once. Grima turns his head and the market is destroyed. He sweeps his breath all the way to the eastern walls before he stops to inhale. Their ears are filled with echoing screams as white-outlined houses crumble until they overlay their solid counterparts in the here-and-now.

A shadow bursts from the eastern edge of the city. Large, and flying, but nothing to rival even Grima’s head. It speeds towards the palace- right for the balcony they’re standing on, everyone clumped together to see the projection. They part on instinct, now, as the shape dives towards them. Morgan hears Nah gasp. Just before the shape- which looks much like Nah’s dragon form, now that it’s close enough to see- can collide with the balcony, it shimmers and shrinks into a human-sized body that slams into the stone of the balcony with a heavy crack. The manakete woman doesn’t look much older than Nah had when he had met her, though Nah had told him that appearances are usually deceiving when it comes to guessing the dragon-shifters’ ages. The white light of the projection outlines her blonde hair and turns it more silver than gold. She recovers from her landing and pushes into the bedroom before stopping and turning back to them with a frown.

“Nah? When did you get here?”

Nah is frozen in place, her eyes wide. She’s reverted to her ‘true’ body now, the one Morgan and his sister had first met her in. She doesn’t react when the other manakete takes her by the hand and pulls her towards the door.

“It doesn’t matter, I guess. Come on!”

Nah takes a step after the woman and is immediately outlined in white light. She looks down at herself, then around the balcony where the others watch, but she doesn’t seem to see any of them. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out and the other woman tugs on her hand. “Nah, come on! We don’t have much time.” Nah turns and allows herself to be pulled out of the room.

“Nah!” Everyone is yelling after her, but Morgan runs. They have a head start, but it’s not an impossible one. He chases them down one hallway after another, tracking them through the turns by the flare of his purple coat, which Nah is still wearing.

He finally catches them at the top of a staircase that in the projection is littered with broken statues and crushed artwork thrown from the walls as tremors shake the palace and the city beyond. In the real, now, the stairs are made treacherous by bones. White-lit figures fill the stairs in the projection, some rushing up the stairs and some down, most of them injured and all of them scared. Morgan grabs Nah’s hand _and suddenly the shaking of the earth and the dust and smoke and blood in the air is so much more real and he staggers as the sudden influx of sensation threatens to overwhelm him. Nah’s hand is steady in his, though, and she’s looking at him with something between gratitude and sadness. The woman, who he figures now must be Nah’s mother Nowi, begins pushing her way up the stairs to the first landing. Morgan sets a foot down where he knows a bone to be in the real but he feels nothing but solid stone under his boot._

_“Prince Chirom!” Nowi calls, dragging Nah behind her. On the landing, a young man with bright orange hair and a staff in hand looks up from a young woman with a broken leg. The Brand of the Exalt curls around his neck. “The Fell Dragon is attacking the city through a portal of some kind. Unless you have Falchion on you, you should leave.”_

_The Exalted prince frowns. “I know. Cina has Falchion today. She was in the throne room last I heard. But I can’t leave, Nowi. Look at this,” he gestures around him as dust rains from above. “I’ll keep doing what I can for anyone I can find.”_

_Nah speaks up. “And the people appreciate your devotion, but if you and your sister both fall here, there will be no one to combat Grima. Please, you must escape while you can.” Something of the desperation Nah must be feeling must show on her face, because the prince takes a step back. He looks down at the injured woman and holds out his staff. The orb set into the top glows red and her leg snaps back into place. She screams, as much out of surprise as pain, and stands with the help of another girl next to her. The prince looks back to Nah._

_“I… How is he even here? I thought he was defeated.”_

_“I don’t know,” Nah says. “But he is. Please, there’s no time-”_

_Chirom looks at Nah intently before nodding once. “Very well. I will make my way to safety. After I find-”_

_“We’ll get Cina,” Nowi promises. “Go.” He nods jerkily and runs down the stairs. Nowi pulls them upwards again, and soon they’re pushing into the throne room. Two of the room’s towering pillars have fallen, crushing tiles and tables and more than one unfortunate soul. “Cina!” Nowi yells into the dust that clouds most of the room. “Cina!”_

_“Over here!” Someone calls back from the other side of the downed pillars. Nowi runs, vaulting over the pillars with ease. In doing so, she drops Nah’s hand, and both Nah and Morgan flicker back_ into the real long enough to clamber over the pillars themselves. On the other side, Nah takes her mother’s hand again and Morgan takes _hers, and the dust nearly chokes him. Nowi is standing with a woman whose relation to the prince on the stairs is clear. They have the same hair and the same sharp nose, though Morgan doesn’t see the Exalt’s Brand on any of her exposed skin. She has Falchion at her side and a golden shield on her back. _

_“Cina, the Fell Dragon is attacking. You have to leave, now. Your brother is already on his way out.”_

_“The Fell Dragon? I thought he was gone. My great-whatever grandfather killed him.”_

_“Not quite,” Nowi replies grimly. “He- we can talk later. You need to leave.”_

_Cina nods to Nah and Morgan. “Who are these two? I haven’t seen them before.”_

_Nowi doesn’t groan, but Nah learned some mannerisms from her mother, and Morgan recognizes the suppressed frustration. “My daughter, Nah, and-” she frowns, as if actually taking in Morgan’s appearance for the first time. “And Morgan. They’re an old friend. Will you leave now?”_

_Cina shakes her head. “I won’t leave my people in the city to the dragon’s mercy.” She draws Falchion and shrugs the shield off her back. “You say Chirom is already escaping?” Nowi nods helplessly. “Good. I’m going to fight.”_

_“And how do you plan to get to him to begin with?” Nah asks. She takes a step forward but still does not relinquish her hold on either Nowi or Morgan. “He’s more than a thousand feet in the air.” Cina pauses, then glances at Nowi. Morgan can feel Nah’s grip tighten. “No. It won’t work.” Nah turns to her mother. “Please, listen to me, you won’t make it halfway before his breath catches you.”_

_But Nowi is considering Cina carefully. She nods. “I’ll do it. We have to make it outside first, though.” Cina nods back._

_“Mother,” Nah insists, pulling on Nowi’s arm. Nowi turns. “Please, you must leave the city. Both of you. If you don’t, you’ll both die here.”_

_“Can you see the future now, Nah?” Nowi laughs, teasing but gentle. “Nothing is certain. Besides, shouldn’t you have a little bit more faith in me by now?” She pulls her hand from Nah’s and places it on her daughter’s cheek and doesn’t seem to notice_ when Nah and Morgan slip between the real and _the projection. “I know you’ve already fought him twice over, now. There’s no need for you to go to war a third time.”_

_“That’s not-” Nah is blinking rapidly and Morgan squeezes her hand. “That’s not the point! Listen, I’ve lived this already! I do know how this happens! You never came back from Ylisstol. Hardly anyone did.”_

_That at least gives Nowi pause. “Time travel? Again?” Nah nods._

_“More or less,” Morgan mutters._

_“Please, listen to me. Get out.”_

_Nowi nods slowly. “I see. Well, just by being here, you’ve already changed things, right?” Her hand drops back to Nah’s. “Things will be different this time.” Nowi’s eyes shift to Morgan. “I have to say, I never expected to see you again, Morgan. Have you recovered any of your memories yet?”_

_Morgan shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.”_

_“Ah. I’m sorry, then. I know how much you wanted to know the truth.” The entire throne room lurches and they all stagger. Morgan scrapes his arm against a piece of rock hard enough to draw blood. He looks around the throne room and catches the outline of a ghostly figure, then two more, then three. There are new screams from somewhere nearby. “I’ll get Cina. The two of you need to get out, too. I’ll find you afterwards, Nah. I-” A resounding crack echoes through the throne room. Morgan looks up, squinting into the shadows that hide the ceiling in the dim light. There’s something moving- down, towards them._

_“Watch out!” He drags Nah backwards and she tries to drag Nowi, but her mother releases her hand and runs forward instead, calling for Cina and already shifting into her dragon form. The ceiling caves in, chunks of stone the size of Nowi dropping to the ground as Nah and Morgan trip backwards_ into the real. The illusory ceiling of the projection crashes into the ground they had been standing on just seconds before. White-lit dust rises and within, Nowi roars. Morgan and Nah watch as she soars through the gaping ceiling into the sky beyond. The edge of the portal is visible through the ceiling, and with it, Grima’s impossibly large head. Morgan holds his breath as Nowi and Cina gain height. Nowi turns away from Grima.

It doesn’t matter.

The line of Grima’s breath sweeps along the shore of the lake that borders Ylisstol. The entire back half of the palace is crumpled like so much paper and as the projection of the walls falls away Morgan realizes that he can actually see the lake itself, glinting in the real sunset. He’s looking at the lake- he doesn’t see Nowi fall, but he hears Nah scream, the sound more dragon than human. He catches her as she collapses to the ground, tears streaming down her face. He pulls her close and she clings to him.

He gradually becomes aware of footsteps drawing closer. When he looks up, their friends are arriving, faces somber, and he wonders how much they have seen. His sister is the first to approach, settling on Nah’s other side and putting her arms as far around Nah and Morgan as she can. One by one the others join them, until they are all huddled together in the grey throne room painted red by the setting sun on the lake. The white light of their projection spell fades and vanishes, and none of the ghosts enter the room. They are alone for the first time since entering the city.


	8. part 7: noire

They sit together on the floor for a long time. Nah has long since gone still, but others now are weeping, and it’s difficult to say what exactly they are mourning. The silence settles over them like a shroud. _Except,_ Noire thinks, _silence isn’t really the right word._ They don’t speak unless they have to, and then only in whispers and half-sentences. They don’t hold back their tears or sniffles, and they , so it’s not a quiet or a stillness. Even so, there’s an almost physical _something_ that holds them in place, waiting for some unknown sign to break it. Noire leans farther into Brady, who has one arm around her and the other in Owain’s hand. Severa’s on the other side of Owain and Kjelle is on the other side of her, all of them linked in a circle with Nah and the twins in the center.

It’s Yarne who finally breaks the circle. He stands suddenly, jostling red-Morgan beside him, and moves to the gap in the stone that looks out onto the lake. The sun has set by now, though the western sky is still light. Stars have begun to shine in the east.

“There’s something out there,” Yarne says. It shatters the quiet, breaking all of them out of their stupor and throwing them back into the reality of their fight. “I can’t tell what, but there’s something moving out in the fields. Noire joins him, following his arm to the fields north and west of Ylisstol. Whatever it is he sees, Noire’s human eyes can’t pick it out. She backs away from the edge of the stone.

“You’re sure?” Lucina asks, leaning out and squinting.

“Yeah,” Yarne says. There’s an edge of resignation to his voice. “It’s too big to be an animal- and all the animals around here are too smart to come near the city anyway.”

“What does that say about us, then,” Severa mutters from behind Noire. Gerome approaches the open wall and lets out a piercing whistle. Three minutes later, Minerva swoops into the throne room with an answering shriek. Not to be outdone, Cynthia starts calling for Belfire.

“I’ll go see what it is,” Gerome says, climbing into Minerva’s saddle. He doesn’t wait for a response and Minerva dives away from the palace before rising back into sight on spread wings. Lucina watches him go.

Belfire appears. Cynthia scrambles into the saddle and takes off after Gerome. Someone sighs.

They return twenty minutes later. Full night has fallen, leaving only the stars and a near-full moon for light.

“Whatever it was was gone by the time I got there, but it never made it into the city,” Gerome reports, sliding down from Minerva’s back.

“I didn’t see any signs of movement in the eastern fields at all,” Cynthia says. “Just our camp from last night.”

“We could stay here for the night and leave when we’ve got some light,” Inigo offers, but even he doesn’t seem thrilled by the idea. Noire, for one, doesn’t want to spend the night sleeping with ghosts. Then again, the thought of walking into whatever is outside the city in the dark doesn’t sound too appealing either.

“You said our camp from last night was still there, right?” Lucina asks. Cynthia nods. “Let’s make use of it again, then.” She looks around at them. “I don’t think any of us cares to spend any more time here than we must.” No one disagrees.

“There’s just the matter of making it back through ghost-central without getting nabbed again,” Owain says. He shrugs. “What are we waiting for?”

Noire leaves her bow unstrung as they make their way out of the castle. Most of them leave their weapons sheathed- their hands are better occupied holding onto each other. The ghosts thus far haven’t been violent, but none of them are eager to be grabbed again. Worse, in the dark, it would be all too easy for the others not to notice if one of them slipped through time again. Lucina has Falchion out, and Kjelle has her spear. Nah carries her dragonstone tight in one hand. She starts cycling between ages again once they leave the throne room. Gerome and Cynthia circle around the palace from the air and meet them in the grounds, which are still wavering between repair and ruin. They glide above the city as the rest of them make for the gates on foot. Noire is caught between Laurent and Severa in their chain as they wind through the streets like a bizarre snake. Three times their chain- Laurent, Noire, Severa, Owain, and blue-Morgan- jolts into bright sunlight as one of the ghosts grabs at them, but it’s easy enough to shake them. The fountain with the three statues is still being destroyed periodically, but once they pass it their only company from the past is the occasional voice from a building or alley.

They make the gates in under an hour. Passing back into the grassy fields surrounding Ylisstol is like a breath of fresh air. There had been nothing green and growing in the city unless it was in memory, but out here Noire breathes deep and takes in the smell of grass and clean dirt and night air. Not a hint of ash. The others have similarly relaxed, shoulders untensing and easy grins breaking out as they put the ruins behind them. Yarne is on high alert, though, arms loose in the way that says he expects to change shape soon. Noire’s seen it in Nah, too, though right now the manakete is looking at her child body with what can only be described as disgust. She hands red-Morgan’s coat back with a sigh.

Noire tries to take her cue from Yarne and stay alert, but the long day of exploring the ruins has worn her out, to say nothing of the emotional drain of it all, or the fact that she barely slept the night before. Free of the oppressive deadness of the city, they let out all the jokes and smiles and stupid teasing they haven’t indulged in all day, paying less and less attention as they near their camp. They’re completely unprepared when Yarne’s alert comes.

“Risen!”

They drop their bags in the grass and scramble for their weapons. Yarne is already moving, his form shifting as he runs- towards the first Risen, not away. He takes it down and retreats back towards them.

Gerome and Cynthia are heaving themselves back into their saddles and Noire realizes her bow is still unstrung. She sets her foot and pulls with all the strength of her back. By the time the three of them are ready, Nah has already taken to the sky with a roar. She dives, taking two Risen in two clawed forefeet and dashing them to nothing against the ground. There are still roughly two dozen of them, visible now by their glowing red eyes like embers in the grass.

They make lovely targets for Noire’s arrows.

There aren’t enough of the things to truly threaten them, even exhausted and unawares. Noire’s first shot takes down a big one bearing down on Severa. She releases early on the second as Kjelle barges into her line of sight. Without the full pull of the bow, the arrow clangs harmlessly off of Kjelle’s pauldron.

“Hey! I’m on your side!”

Noire flinches. “Sorry,” she says, quiet enough that she’s sure no one heard her at all. Two lines of fire streak across the sky in high arcs, immolating two Risen swinging for Nah as she passes over them. Noire takes advantage of the light to loft another arrow far above the the main battle. It comes down heavily on a Risen at the back of the fight and it collapses. 

Lucina leads the charge into the knot of remaining Risen. Owain and Inigo are on her heels and lightning flashes before them from Laurent’s hand. They move as one unit, blades singing as they dance through their enemies, circling each other so that no one takes point for more than a few seconds. Kjelle is an army unto herself, and she wades into the fight alone. Her spear doesn’t stop moving and neither does she. The Risen, driven back by the spinning wheel of Lucina, Owain, and Inigo, turn on Kjelle, thinking a lone fighter an easier target than three. None of them get past her from the front, but some are circling around behind. Noire nocks another arrow, but before she can take the shot Cynthia plunges out of the sky, skewering two Risen at once on her lance. Gerome swoops in as Cynthia rises, long axe swinging. Noire has lost sight of Yarne. 

“Get. Off. Of. Me!” Each word is punctuated by a hollow thunk. Noire spins. Well back from the rest of the fight, Brady is currently beating a Risen over the head with his staff. The thing grabs for the wood and starts… _gnawing_ on it. Brady tugs on the staff but the Risen follows his movements. Noire can hear an almost musical _clink_ of teeth against the crystal that tops the staff. “Let go of it, you stinking- argh!” With a final heave, Brady pulls the staff away from the Risen. Most of it, anyway- the crystal remains in the Risen’s mouth until Noire’s arrow puts it down. She runs to Brady, eyes wide for any hint of another Risen.

“Are you alright?” she asks. There’s no sign of anything else in the field behind them. How had this one gotten around with none of them the wiser?

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Brady grumbles. It’s too dark for Noire to see if he’s telling the truth. He stalks forward and pries the crystal out of the dead Risen’s grasp. It’s cracked in two. Brady looks at it with disgust. “Well, there goes the one thing I’m good for around here,” he mutters. Noire’s pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to hear it, so she doesn’t say anything.

Something brushes through the grass behind them and Noire pivots, bow already drawn.

“Woah! It’s just me, jeez.” Severa stands there, sword bare. “Just making sure you guys are ok over here.” She looks them over. “Looks like everyone’s in one piece, at least.” She jerks a thumb back over her shoulder. “They could use your staff over there, Brady. Inigo and Nah both took a couple nasty hits.”

“Yeah, there uh, might be a problem with that,” Brady says. He holds out the staff and the shattered crystal and Severa’s eyes narrow.

“Well. That’s an issue.”

An idea strikes Noire. It’s the kind of idea fueled by too much adrenaline and too little sleep. She snatches Brady’s staff and examines the setting for the focus. It looks to be the right size. She digs into a pocket and pulls out a red orb. She wedges it into the setting and wiggles the staff a bit. The orb doesn’t fall, so she hands it back to Brady.

“Is that-?” Severa starts. Brady examines the gemstone and pales.

Noire shrugs hesitantly. “I thought it might work?”

“You want me to use one of the five gemstones as a focus for my staff?” Brady squeaks.

“Is that a problem?” Noire asks, genuinely concerned. Sure, it’s unusual, but desperate times and everything. She doesn’t _think_ it’s sacrilegious or anything, but even if it is, who’s going to tell them off about it?

Brady clears his throat. “No, no. I’ll make it work. I think.” He gestures to Severa. “C’mere, let me try it.”

Severa backs away. “What?! Why am I the guinea pig?”

“‘Cause you’re the one who’s hurt,” Brady explains patiently. “And you’re the closest. Now, hold still.” Severa watches the red orb with open distrust, but she holds still while Brady closes his eyes. The orb glows a brighter red, the same shade as the Risen’s eyes. It flares once, briefly, and Severa hisses through her teeth. Noire never sees where she’s hurt. Brady opens his eyes and grins. “Y’know, I think I could get used to that.”

“Speak for yourself,” Severa grumbles. “I feel like I have ants crawling all over me.” She shudders once and pushes Brady towards the rest of their group. “Go inflict it on someone else.” Brady goes, and Severa shoves Noire after him. “Come on, we’re not staying out in the open on our own.” Severa still hasn’t sheathed her sword. Noire leaves her bow strung.

If anyone notices the familiar red orb that now tops Brady’s staff, no one comments that night. They make their way back to their camp and Noire is almost immediately asleep. Red-Morgan wakes her a few hours before dawn for her turn at watch. Nothing troubles them for the rest of the night.

When morning comes, they eat a subdued breakfast and set out. They leave the Risen where they fell. The only attention they pay them is to loot a weapon or two as replacements and spares. Noire finds a sturdy dagger on one and hands it to Brady as they walk.

“It’s more effective than hitting them with a stick,” she says. Brady accepts the knife but eyes it skeptically. Noire’s pretty sure he won’t use it, but she feels better knowing he has it.

Emmeryn’s Vale is empty of pegasi when they reach it that night. Noire wonders where they went. Blue-Morgan sits beside her to eat and they talk about stars while the others drop off to sleep around the place where a fire should be. Noire wishes they had one, but she wishes more to attract no further trouble on the road.

“We’re not very good at fighting as a group,” Morgan says. Her voice is just loud enough for Noire to hear. “Or rather, not all of us as one group.”

Noire nods, thinking of her arrow on Kjelle’s armor. “I have no idea how to fight with you. I’ve only ever fought with Laurent for a mage before.” Morgan _hmm_s.

“We should work on that. Next time, we might not be so lucky.”

“Lucky,” Noire repeats. Morgan nods. “I guess we were pretty lucky. It could have been a lot worse.” She’s fought at worse odds before, and in worse condition. She knows it could have been worse. “I knew how to fight with everyone last week,” she murmurs. “Now it’s just…”

“You’re surrounded by strangers you think you should know,” Morgan says quietly. Noire looks at her and she flashes a grin. “It’s not quite the same, I know, but I understand a little. I’m kinda terrible at fighting next to anyone who isn’t Nah or my brother.” Her smile falters. “Nah or Morgan.”

Noire watches Morgan and wonders about the correction. “What do you mean?”

Morgan shrugs, nonchalant. “I mean, prior to a week ago literally my only experiences with fighting was as a unit with them. I’ve never had to worry about so many other people at once.” The _that I can remember_ went unspoken.

Noire draws her knees up to her chest and sweeps her gaze across the empty field. Nothing stirs. “This is all so strange. But it’s familiar at the same time. How does that even work?”

Morgan laughs. “You’re asking the wrong girl, Noire. My life started two years ago- most things are still new and strange.”

“You’re also the only person I know who understands this time travel mess,” Noire says. “You and your brother.” Morgan flinches and Noire tenses. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if he is,” she all but whispers. “My brother. Lucina said she had a little brother, once, but no sister. That could just be a result of alternate possibilities and not an absolute truth, but more than that, when we found that statue of Robin in the city, I said ‘father’ and he said ‘mother’. We can’t truly be siblings if that’s true, can we?” Morgan goes quiet and stares unseeing into the darkness. Noire checks their surroundings. Eventually, Morgan speaks again. “When I woke up, all I knew was my name, and that the boy next to me was my brother. I recognized my father when I saw the statue, but if I can’t trust that Morgan is my brother, how can I trust that? One of them has to be wrong, if not both, and at that point, what’s to say Morgan is even really my name?” She sounds close to tears now, and Noire’s not entirely sure what to do with that, but she reaches out a tentative hand and rests it on Morgan’s. Morgan grips it tightly and Noire tries to find something to say.

“I think,” Noire says slowly, “that if you believe he’s your brother, then he’s your brother. Maybe not in the sense that you have the same parents, but that’s not what makes people family anyway.” Morgan sniffles once and wipes at her face. Noire tries to understand how it would feel to suddenly doubt the only things you knew about your own life. The terror of it seems too large to bear, and she runs out of words for her friend, so she hugs her instead. Morgan holds to her tightly, hands fisted in Noire’s shirt. When Morgan finally withdraws, she wipes her face dry and flashes a brilliant smile at Noire. 

“Thanks, Noire. You give nice hugs, you know.” Before Noire can respond, Morgan is up and walking the perimeter of their camp, which is really less a proper camp and more an assembly of bedrolls and sleeping people. Noire watches Morgan circle them in the darkness and wonders how she can smile so brightly while doubting one of the few things she knows to be true. She had meant what she said to Morgan- it isn’t blood that creates a family. She and her friends are proof enough of that. Their ‘real’ families are dead, and they have forged this one in war and blood and they are strong enough that reality itself cannot keep them separate. It was one of the only solid things Noire had been able to trust these past years, as the Risen overran the earth. That is a truth she holds to even now, because no matter what possible futures these versions of her friends have come from, that past they share. The twins are new, at least to Noire. Most of the others seem to know at least some version of them, though, and now more than ever Noire can see that they need a family as much or more than the rest of them.

Noire tips her head back and seeks out the Archer in the stars. She’s always considered it her constellation, and it’s good to know that even after a thousand years she can still find it. Two hours later, she shakes Gerome awake for his turn at watch and falls asleep to the sound of her friends’ breathing all around her.


	9. part 8: inigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they need a break! they're not getting one

They’re on edge the entire way back to Imrynvol Keep, and in their urgency they shave an entire day of travel off (even if it feels twice as long). They encounter no Risen and no sign of their passage in the foothills and forest surrounding the castle. Inigo feels the old dread settling in again, the paranoia and the fear that around every corner the undead lay in wait. It’s familiar in the way an old coat is familiar, only this one is itchy and too tight and there’s a damp patch under one arm and you don’t know why. Inigo hates it. He hadn’t realized how much of this fear Grima’s defeat had taken from him until now, thrown headfirst into another war (or is this the same war?). He can’t help but resent Nah, at least a little, for drawing them back into the fight. He’s happy beyond belief to see them again, all of them, but they had this fight already and they won, but they _paid_ for it and gods above he doesn’t want to pay again. 

They make Imrynvol in the late afternoon and disperse through the keep. Inigo finds a room in the upper levels, intact and with a large window that looks out over the hills. The room is fairly large and devoid of furniture, though the closet is still stacked with dusty, moth-eaten linens. Inigo inspects the room carefully, but nothing else reveals itself and he figures it’s out-of-the-way enough to suit his purposes. He drops his bag in the corner and begins to dance. It’s the first one he learned, familiar as the sound of his mother’s voice, and far easier to recall. He lets his body’s memory guide him and basks in the quiet peace it brings. He lets his thoughts drift as they will while he flows from one step to the next, until the dance is over and his body reminds him that they’ve spent the last two weeks hiking through overgrown wilderness and ruins. He stretches and enjoys the soreness in his arms. It’s been too long since he managed a whole dance without an interruption of some sort.

As if summoned by the thought, there’s a knock at the door. It swings open and there stands Kjelle, unarmored and unarmed. Her hair hangs loose and she’s wearing her old practice clothes, sweat-stained and patched. “Apparently there’s a hot spring under the castle,” she says without preamble. “A few of us are heading down, if you’re interested.”

Inigo flashes the most charming grin he has. “You’re inviting me to a hot spring? Really? I never thought I’d see the day.” Kjelle narrows her eyes.

“Never mind. I regret it already.” The door starts to swing shut.

“Hey, wait!” Inigo dashes after her before the door can close. “I didn’t say no!”

Kjelle measures him with a look when he catches up to her. She cracks a smile. “You’re out of practice.”

Inigo stops short. She continues. “I’m- what do you mean _out of practice?_”

“Your flirting,” she says without turning. “You’re usually much better.”

Inigo stares at her retreating back, then grins and catches up again. “Well, if I am, it’s simply for lack of opportunity. Could you find it in your heart then to join me in practice- training, if you will?” Kjelle snorts, and he sees her smile grow. “Since when did you pay enough attention to decide I’m out of practice, anyway?”

“Ah…” To Inigo’s shock, Kjelle’s face actually reddens. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her flustered. At least, not like this.

“Wait, don’t tell me. My continuous and irresistible charm managed to reach even you, in your time.” Inigo smiles broadly as her face goes even redder. She pulls a chain out from under her shirt. Three rings hang from it. One, Inigo recognizes as Kjelle’s mother’s. Kjelle holds up one of braided silver.

“You gave this to me three months ago.”

Inigo nearly stops again. “I did? And you _accepted_ it?” He’s not quite sure which is more unbelievable.

Kjelle nods. She touches the third ring on the chain, which glints red in the sun from the corridor’s windows. “This one is from Severa.” Her smile turns wistful for just a heartbeat. “It’s a shame there are no bakeries around now. They’re always nice.” 

Inigo stays silent as he follows her down several flights of stairs. She leaves the rings hanging outside of her shirt and he keeps shooting glances at the silver one. He knows himself well enough to know he would never make a gift of a ring in anything less than utter seriousness. And if Kjelle had accepted it… “Why didn’t you mention it earlier?” he asks.

Kjelle shrugs. “Quite honestly, I was more concerned with making it to Ylisstol and back, and it was pretty clear you didn’t remember me that way.” There’s a downturn to her eyes that makes him think she’s more bothered by that than she lets on.

“Severa doesn’t remember either, does she?” he says quietly. Kjelle shakes her head. Inigo hesitates only a moment before drawing even and taking her hand. She looks at him, questioning bordering on the edge of warning. He ignores it. “Well, then, I suppose I must make reparations for two weeks’ lack of affections. How best may I ease your heart, dear Kjelle?” She shakes her head at him, but she’s smiling. She doesn’t rise to any of his flirting the rest of the way down to the hot spring, but she doesn’t release his hand, either. Inigo smiles softly when she finally does let go, and for an eternal moment aches for what could have been in his own time. So much lost. He takes a long breath and follows Kjelle into the warm mist beyond the old stone door.

Lucina and Noire are already there, and Brady arrives with Gerome soon after. The others drift in and out as Inigo soaks. Kjelle settles in not far from him, her rings absent. Inigo’s eyes catch on the winding, faded scar that curls around her left arm. When he asks, she starts in on a story about a village man and a duel. She asks in turn about a knot of scar tissue just above his stomach, and he realizes she never saw him after that fight. Their friends join in, and soon everyone is telling the stories behind their scars. It’s a reminder of how estranged from each other they are now, despite their shared roots and their time together here and now, almost as much as Kjelle’s rings. Inigo can’t help but wonder about the rest of them. Kjelle has two rings. How are the rest of them connected, in her world?

\---

The question won’t leave him alone, and two days later he finds Kjelle, clearly in the middle of training of some sort. 

“Who else was I with?” he blurts before he has a chance to think better of it. Kjelle doesn’t answer. She continues her series of forms and Inigo has plenty of time to wonder if he actually wants to know the answer, or if it’s just going to hurt. He can’t even bring himself to appreciate watching Kjelle, her forms every bit as controlled and graceful as a dancer’s. Kjelle finishes and turns to him. He can’t tell what she’s thinking.

“Last I knew? Severa. Lucina. Owain.” She shrugs, and if Inigo didn’t know better he would say she is self-conscious. “Not necessarily in sequence, but I don’t think all at once, either. Most of us are together in one way or another.”

Inigo tilts his head. “Really? I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Kjelle gives him a wry smile. “Believe me, some of us were just as surprised.” She twirls her spear in her hands and falls into a guard. “Now, did you need anything else from me? A training partner, perhaps?”

Inigo gives a startled laugh. “Training with you? Is there a version of that where I don’t end up as a punching bag?” Kjelle’s mouth twitches downwards. “I mean, I’d love to give it a shot!” He amends quickly. “I’m sure it would do my own training good.” Kjelle’s face broadens into a genuine smile and she steps back to allow him into the center of the room.

“Good. Now-” She steps back into her guard, feet spread, spear up, shield forward. She wears none of her other armor today, which Inigo thinks might give him just the tiniest bit of an edge. “Try to break my guard.” Inigo steps forward, draws his sword, and gives her a duelist’s salute.

As it turns out, there is both an upside and a downside to fighting Kjelle out of her armor. The upside, for her opposition, is that she has to spend considerably more time maneuvering her shield to cover her weaknesses. The downside is that, without the extra weight of all that metal, she is very, very fast.

Much of Inigo’s strength is in his own speed, but unencumbered by armor, Kjelle is his match. Any time he gets inside the range of her spear, that damnable shield is there, an insurmountable wall of steel. Three times he gets close, but the shield stops him every time. After what feels like hours of dancing around Kjelle for any sign of an opening, Inigo draws back, panting.

“This is not happening. Not today,” he says between breaths. “Maybe if I had a few more years of training and you stayed still, maybe I would have a chance.” Kjelle steps out of her stance, and there’s that look again. It almost seems like disappointment. She carefully removes her shield and sets it against a wall.

“If you keep on like that, you certainly won’t break through. You’ve done it before.” Inigo eyes her skeptically. “I told you I would go on a- one! date with you if you could get past my guard and…” she touches the chain around her neck. “There was more than one date.” Something rumbles elsewhere in the keep, and voices start shouting. It barely registers.

“At a bakery?” Kjelle smiles. Inigo sighs. _So many ghosts. So many shadows of different times._ He gives Kjelle a soft smile and steps close. “I could believe you said that, but not that I ever got that lucky hand-to-hand.” He pecks a quick kiss to Kjelle’s cheek. “I’m sorry I’m not quite your Inigo, Kjelle. I do care about you, very much, but I’ve lived through a different future than you and he did. Even if we- these versions of us- spent the next thirty years together, I wouldn’t be the same.”

Kjelle blinks several times. “Inigo, I do believe that’s the most mature thing you’ve ever said to me.” Inigo scoffs. “You might not have all the same memories, but you’re still Inigo and there are some things that just won’t change, no matter your reality.” She looks at him and smiles. “That’s enough for me.”

Footsteps pound past the door. There’s Owain’s voice, shouting at the top of his impressive volume.

“Risen incoming! Everyone get out here!”

They can hear him racing down the hallway and disappearing up a flight of stairs at the end. Inigo tilts his head and listens. There’s a loud concussion somewhere outside. The castle shudders in response and a little bit of dust trickles down from the ceiling.

“Armor!” Kjelle snaps. Inigo wears little armor to begin with, and all he has with him now are arm- and leg-guards. He straps them on in the space of just a few breaths. Kjelle is still struggling into her solid breastplate, a daunting task alone at the best of times. Inigo helps her settle it and secures the buckles as she stomps into her heavy greaves. The castle shakes again and she curses, pulling on gauntlets. “That’s enough. Let’s go.” She snatches up her spear and shield and charges out the door. Inigo follows, sparing a thought for how ridiculous they must look, half-armored as they are. Kjelle looks like she forgot to put on pants this morning. They race for the front hall, where several smaller concussions are now rocking the castle. They meet Laurent entering from another door, and they enter the courtyard together. 

The sky is clear, but as they watch a flare of bright light grows beyond the walls. Something impacts the front gates and Inigo hears a crack.

“This place is defensible, but there are fourteen of us,” Kjelle says. “If they’re here in any sort of numbers…”

A shadow falls over them, and Gerome comes to land beside them. “They’ve almost surrounded the castle. At least three hundred strong. Probably more.” Kjelle grits her teeth. 

“If we were blessed with great luck and perhaps a miracle, we _might_ be able to hold the keep,” Laurent says grimly. “We have been outnumbered before, but not like this.”

A heartbeat of silence.

“The Shepherds are effective because they’re small, mobile, and very good at what they do,” Kjelle says. “We’re much the same.”

“You mean we need to leave,” Inigo says. “If we get pinned down here, it’s over.” He nods along. “Where’s everyone else?” Laurent shakes his head. 

“I came here as soon as I heard Owain’s warning.”

Another blast hits the front gates and something gives. It’s not enough to allow the Risen in, but the top half of the gatehouse collapses into the courtyard, spewing dust and stone chips everywhere. Minerva squawks and shifts from foot to foot. Gerome calms her with a touch. 

Noire appears on the walls, popping above the ramparts and loosing arrows down into their besiegers. Inigo can’t make out the words, but he can hear her shouting. Arrows begin to clatter off of the wall near her but none of them land and she continues to harass them from above until a Risen mage hurls a ball of fire directly at Noire’s position. The wall collapses beneath her and she falls, screaming.

“Noire!” They all cry out for her but it’s Gerome who moves, Minerva’s powerful wings nearly flattening the rest of them as she takes off, shooting forward into the smoke and dust. Inigo’s heart is in his mouth and his sword is in his hand, but after a moment Minerva rises again and there are two figures on her back. A cloud of arrows chases her up and she has to bank away from the castle. Lightning flashes from the ground towards her and she dodges again. Laurent starts muttering something behind Inigo and the next attack, which surely would have brought down Minerva and her passengers, is turned aside before impact. Despite Laurent’s counters and Minerva’s own agility, she is forced farther and farther away from the keep, until she turns to full retreat, bearing Gerome and Noire away and out of sight.

Lucina charges into the courtyard, the Morgans on her heels, already demanding answers. Laurent explains the situation tersely while Inigo searches the courtyard for any hint of escape or of hidden passages that won’t dump them straight into the middle of a Risen army. Belfire is pacing, whinnying nervously until Cynthia emerges from the hall and soothes him. Kjelle has taken up a position in the center of the courtyard, eyes fixed on the weakening entrance. Nah and Yarne arrive as the last of the gatehouse gives way, leaving a mass of rubble where the gates had been. As they watch, grey heads begin to appear over the crest of the pile. The twins raise their hands and incinerate those at the top.

“If we’re leaving, we have to go _now,_” Inigo says. 

“We’re still missing half of us,” Cynthia protests from Belfire’s back. Her armor is as half-assembled as Kjelle’s.

“Gerome and Noire are already gone,” Laurent says. “I can’t speak for Severa, Brady, or Owain.”

Lucina turns on Nah. “Are there any other ways out of here?” Nah bites her lip.

Blue-Morgan speaks up. “There’s a hidden side door on the northern face of the castle. It opens right onto an old hunter’s track through the mountains- this way!” She turns and darts for the hall- and just misses being taken in the back by a Risen arrow. Inigo whirls, but Kjelle has already made it to the top of the rubble-hill and put her spear through the offending undead.

“We’ll never make it if we show these things our backs,” she calls back to them. Whatever she says next is interrupted by the arrival of more Risen. She knocks them all back down, but they are far from alone. She gives far better than she gets, but the footing is treacherous and she’s missing half her armor. Inigo starts running. He can hear the twins behind him, giving orders.

“Cynthia, can Belfire carry two?”

“Not for long-”

“Take Lucina and go.”

Cynthia and Lucina’s protests are lost in the clash of Inigo’s blade against another. He cuts down one Risen and then another, but there is an entire army’s worth of them and they are all trying to climb the mountain of debris to get at him and Kjelle. There’s a flash of fire from below, well behind the blades pressing against them, and Inigo yells for Laurent. The flames impact with an invisible wall just before reaching them. Inigo can still feel the heat. He and Kjelle hold the gate against the Risen as more and more of them swarm up the slope of crushed stone. His hair stands up on his arms seconds before a bolt of electricity arcs through the Risen in a curve before him, and he knows Laurent has joined the fray in earnest.

They can’t hold the gap forever, though, and eventually Kjelle stumbles on a loose stone and goes down, catching herself with her shield before she can slide down the slope. Inigo jumps forward to cover her and in doing so overextends. He isn’t fast enough to stop the Risen that goes for his undefended back and it crashes into him. He pitches forward, skidding down the outside of the hill. He hears someone shouting his name and the weight is cleared from his back. He staggers to his feet, already swinging, but the ground is scorched and clear for ten feet in every direction. Darkness crosses him, a longer shadow than either Minerva or Belfire would cast, and for a moment he fears the end, but Nah lands heavily just beyond him, her dragon form several times larger than he remembers. She roars a challenge at the army, who now turn their attention on the manakete in their midst. Nah charges forward, red-Morgan whooping from her back as he throws gouts of fire into the Risen, targeting the mages and the archers. Nah tramples everything in her path, and Inigo is still watching the carnage she creates when Yarne, who has also shifted his form, shoots past, the wind of his passage ruffling Inigo’s sweat-damp hair.

“Come on!” Kjelle’s armored fist closes on his shoulder and drags him forward. Laurent is on his other side, glass-clear wards spinning around him like a mirage. Kjelle leads them after Nah, who has broken through the Risen ringing their front gate- or, the pile of rubble that had until recently been their front gate- and come around for another pass. Nah tramples her way through a third time and stops with them at the treeline. She turns on the Risen flowing after her and breathes, flame crackling forward and devouring them. Morgan twists towards them.

“Keep going! We’ll be right behind you!”

Inigo grits his teeth and moves towards Nah instead of away, but Kjelle’s grip is unbreakable on his shoulder still. He can smell the wet stone of the gorge, and he feels the rope snap under his blade as the bridge drops, separating him and Owain from Brady and Yarne. It was perhaps the worst mistake he ever made. 

Kjelle is pulling insistently, and Laurent takes his other arm. “Inigo. _Inigo._ There is a plan. We have to go.” Inigo blinks his eyes clear and allows them to pull him deeper into the forest, praying to Naga that they haven’t just made another terrible mistake.


	10. part 9: cynthia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is timeline? are there actual dates anywhere in fe? pls someone tell me if there is

“Cynthia, can Belfire carry two?”

“Not for long-”

“Take Lucina and go.”

Cynthia’s not sure if she or Lucina protests louder at Morgan’s orders. His red ribbon whips in a sudden wind as he turns on them, face tense.

“Lucina’s the one with the magic sword- you have to get out of here.”

“I’m not going to just leave you all!” Lucina all but shouts. “I’ve seen how that ends and I’m not doing it again.” Morgan seeks out Cynthia for help, but she crosses her arms atop Belfire.

“Don’t look at me. I’m not leaving you guys either!”

Morgan makes a frustrated sound. “It’s not like you’re leaving us to fight on our own-”

“That’s _exactly_ what you’re asking us to do.”

“We’re all leaving! We can’t stay here.” Morgan shoots a glance at Kjelle and Inigo, facing down the Risen at the no-longer-gates. “We have to- look, do you trust me and my sister? As tacticians?” Lucina looks uncertain, but Cynthia gives him a grudging nod. “Then please, go. We don’t have time to argue, but I swear I’ll make it up to you when we meet back up.” He grins at them, and for a second it’s Morgan again, not the Tactician. “We’ll sit around and Lucina can tell embarrassing stories about baby-me.” Lucina’s face closes off, but Cynthia knows Morgan has won. Lucina pulls him into a fierce hug and accepts Cynthia’s hand up onto Belfire’s back.

“Now get going!” Morgan turns to Nah, who’s standing behind him. “How do you feel about a rampage?” Nah grins, feral, and Cynthia urges Belfire into the sky as Nah’s body blurs and stretches.

Belfire struggles for a moment under the double weight, but soon enough he adjusts and they rise above the walls of Imrynvol. Nah bounds over the ruins of the gatehouse below them, red-Morgan on her back and Yarne behind, while blue-Morgan races back into the keep. Arrows reach for them in the air and Belfire banks before Cynthia even thinks to react. Lucina clutches her tightly as they soar away from the castle and into the mountains.

Cynthia misses her flying armor at the higher altitudes, light but well-insulated as it is. She has her breastplate and gloves but nothing more. Lucina shivers behind her and Cynthia feels a twinge of sympathy. At least she’s used to this. 

Belfire keeps them in the air far longer than Cynthia expects, and after three hours they set down on a ledge outside a small mountain cave. They dismount stiffly, stretching and rubbing their arms against the cold. Belfire noses at Cynthia and she rubs his neck. 

“Sorry, boy, but I don’t have anything for you,” she says apologetically. “I don’t even have anything for us.” Still, she rubs him down as best she can and lets him rest inside the cave. She joins Lucina outside, where the high wind chills her and whips her hair into her eyes. Lucina stares out over the mountains, back towards Imrynvol. Cynthia hunches her shoulders against the wind. 

“Do you think…” The wind steals her voice. Or maybe it’s fear of the answer she might get. She clears her throat and tries again. “Do you think everyone else made it out?”

Lucina blinks hard, coming back from wherever she had been in her head. She offers Cynthia a small smile. “Yeah. I’m sure everyone is fine.”

Cynthia tries to have faith in her friends, and in Lucina’s faith in them. She grins back. “Great! Then I guess we just have to meet back up with them.” She pauses. “Er. Where exactly are we meeting? Morgan didn’t say anything about that part, did he?”

Lucina shakes her head. “No. He didn’t.” Cynthia nods agreeably and sits, letting her feet dangle off the ledge. After a moment Lucina sits, too, well back from the drop but still within arm’s reach of Cynthia. 

“Ylisstol,” Lucina says several minutes later. “It’s the only place we all have in common- home.”

Cynthia shudders just thinking about their day in the city. “You’re sure?” she asks, very quietly. Lucina nods. Cynthia sighs. “Belfire won’t be able to carry us much farther tonight. We can probably make it down out of the mountains, but not much further.”

“Do we actually want to make it out of the mountains?” Lucina asks. Cynthia looks at her.

“Unless you’re saying you _want_ to stay up here all night without any supplies.”

Lucina gestures broadly. “The lowlands are crawling with Risen, more than we could ever hope to fight on our own. For all we know, the entire path between here and Ylisstol could be filled with them.”

Cynthia considers. “We can stick to the mountains as far as we can, but Belfire still has to eat, and so do we.” Lucina nods thoughtfully and pulls her cloak tighter around herself.

“I guess we’ll have to risk it then. How much longer will Belfire need to recover?”

Cynthia twists and eyes the pegasus critically. He’s currently sniffing at the wall of the cave. “Give him an hour and he’ll be able to get us to the forest.” Lucina nods again and gets up to examine the cave herself. Cynthia watches the mountains. There’s a few birds here and there, and a few flying shapes that are a bit larger than most birds, but as the afternoon continues they are left alone but for the incessant wind.

“Hey, Cynthia, come here,” Lucina calls after half an hour. Cynthia rolls to her feet and dashes into the cave. Lucina is standing at the back wall, Falchion drawn. “Do you feel anything over here?” Lucina runs her hand up and down a section of the wall. Cynthia can’t see anything that makes it any different than the rest of the cave in the shadows, but she removes her glove and obediently runs her hand from floor to ceiling. A draft of air tickles her bare skin, but it isn’t coming from outside.

“It’s warm,” Cynthia says. She reaches forward, meaning to find the seam in the rock that’s letting the heated air through. Her hand passes through the stone entirely. She pulls back in shock and stares at Lucina. “Magic.”

“Illusion,” Lucina agrees grimly. She pushes Cynthia back firmly and holds Falchion before her. “Come forth, light of justice,” she whispers, and the blade bursts into white flame. Cynthia gasps in delight.

“You got it to work! You got it to burn on command!” Lucina shoots her a small grin and sweeps Falchion down through the stone. It shimmers like summer heat and vanishes in a puff of yellow smoke. Lucina steps through the opening now revealed in the rock, Falchion leading, and Cynthia follows.

Falchion’s flame illuminates a natural chamber, roughly circular and no more than fifteen feet across. The air inside is still and warm, and along the wall are lines of barrels and stacked crates. Lucina moves farther into the room and Cynthia spies a shelf holding a row of books and a handful of candles. She grabs one and manages to light it from Falchion’s fire, drawing an amused look from Lucina. She examines one of the barrels, but there doesn’t seem to be any identifying marks. She draws her short, practical knife that rarely leaves her and pries the barrel open. The wooden lid clatters to the ground. Cynthia leans over the barrel, and doesn’t think she’s ever been so happy to see beans. She hears Lucina paging through the books across the room and digs out a handful of beans. They look to be in good condition.

“It’s a smugglers’ cache,” Lucina says, still turning pages. “But what were they smuggling? And where?” Cynthia reaches her whole arm into the barrel- and immediately pulls it back with a yelp.

“Weapons,” she says, examining the gash on her palm. “Very sharp ones, too. And beans.” Lucina joins her at the barrel. “Don’t stick your arm in,” Cynthia advises her.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lucina says. She moves to the next barrel and pries it open with her own dagger. This one is also full of beans.

“How long do you think this place has been here?” Cynthia asks. She pries open another barrel and finds more beans.

“These books are ledgers,” Lucina says, her voice echoing in the small chamber. “There are dates ranging from 1297 through the 1400s.” Cynthia stops opening barrels.

“These don’t look like five hundred year old beans.”

“And these don’t look like five hundred year old books,” Lucina agrees. “If I had to guess, I’d say whatever magic was hiding this place kept it preserved, too.”

“Huh.” Cynthia tries one of the crates this time. “Found some blankets. And a map!” Lucina looks up from the ledgers. Cynthia spreads the rolled vellum map on one of the other crates. Imrynvol Keep is labeled, as is Ylisstol. The mountains are crisscrossed with fine lines and notes written almost too small for her to read. She squints at the mountain they’re currently on- in, she amends mentally. “See… map 5...A? Do you see a map 5A anywhere?” She rifles through the crate she opened at Lucina’s negative. There’s a whole stack of rolled maps in the crate, each painstakingly copied out onto fine vellum and carefully labeled. There’s 1A through F, 2D through J, and there- 5A. Cynthia unrolls it and finds a map of the mountain in three dimensions. Cynthia stares. If the map is to be believed, there are- or at least were, five hundred years ago- tunnels laced through the entire mountain range. She starts unrolling other maps, spreading them all out on the floor so that they overlap. Lucina crouches down beside her.

“What is it?” she asks, Falchion extended over the display.

“It’s tunnels,” Cynthia says, sitting back. “It looks like they run all the way to the foothills outside Ylisstol. These smugglers were really good, and really organized.”

Lucina laughs quietly. “We could bypass the Risen entirely. With the supplies in here and these maps, we won’t have to set foot outside until we’re barely two days away from Ylisstol.”

“Yeah, we sure could,” Cynthia says with far less enthusiasm. Lucina looks at her in question. “What about Belfire, though? What if he can’t fit through these tunnels?”

“The ledgers talk about wagon deliveries- I think they ran them _through_ the mountains. This place was just a stop on the route north. Belfire shouldn’t have a problem.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not sure he’ll enjoy spending days underground without a chance to see the sun. And do any of these barrels have food fit for a pegasus in them?”

Lucina eyes her. “Are you sure this is just about Belfire?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t it be?”

“No reason, I suppose. And yes, those three crates are full of feed.” Lucina points at a series of opened crates by the shelf. “That means all we have to do is find the entrance to the tunnels.” She stands and starts methodically driving Falchion into the walls of the chamber, working her way around until one section wavers and vanishes like the illusion that had covered the entrance. Cynthia sighs and goes to collect Belfire.

“Are you ready for days and days in the dark underground?” she asks him. He blows air and headbutts her. “Well, I guess that makes one of us, at least.”

“Cynthia,” Lucina says behind her. She whirls. “If you can’t do this, we’ll find another way.”

Cynthia shakes her head sharply. “No! I’ve got this! It’s just a bunch of old tunnels, isn’t it? Nothing to worry about.” She marches back into the chamber, leading Belfire. She starts organizing what supplies they’ve found until she has enough to last her and Belfire for a week. Lucina rolls up the maps and clearly considers taking the ledgers before deciding to leave them. One of the barrels contains fresh water and there are several watertight pouches in one crate that were probably intended for something much more valuable than water based on their size. Cynthia empties one of the lighter crates and hangs it from Belfire’s saddle for his water.

“Ready?” Lucina asks. Cynthia nods firmly and they set out, Falchion’s white fire leading the way. Belfire balks just once, passing from the first chamber into the tunnels beyond, but at Cynthia’s gentle urging he continues on.

The tunnels are indeed large enough to accommodate a modest wagon, which is a great relief to Cynthia. The walls and ceiling are rough-hewn stone but the floor is smooth and they walk without issue. And walk. And walk. Without the sun, time quickly loses all meaning, and Cynthia loses her focus completely, thinking of nothing but following Falchion’s light. When they are tired enough, they stop and eat some of their pilfered supplies, and then they keep walking. The next time they stop, they sleep, curled together in utter darkness against Belfire’s flank. The first time they reach a branch in the tunnel they pull out the maps and lay them out on the tunnel floor until they are absolutely certain they’re turning the right way. And then they keep walking. After the second time they sleep, Cynthia decides she can’t take the silence anymore and fills it with her own voice, telling Lucina stories of the Shepherds and their adventures, and eventually Lucina tells her about Ylisstol and its recovery in the wake of Grima’s defeat.

They take a wrong turn once, and it’s three hours and a branch that shouldn’t be there that finally alerts them. After that, they’re much more careful about the path. They sleep four more times before they reach what should be another chamber like the first one they found. Lucina cuts through the illusion wall and they enter, only to find that their exit has collapsed. Cynthia stares at the stone, trying not to believe that they have come all this way only to be trapped by a forgotten landslide. Lucina growls and starts cutting with Falchion. Stone falls away and is replaced by more stone as the rocks beyond shift to fill the gaps. Lucina breathes heavily and steps back, regarding the wall with something like despair.

Belfire snorts in a very un-horse-like way and lays down. Cynthia joins him and soon so does Lucina. They eat another cold meal that involves a lot of old beans and sleep, hoping to find some answer in their dreams.

Grey light wakes Cynthia hours later. She blinks dust from her eyes and sits up. She can see Lucina next to her, but Falchion is dark, safely in its sheath at her side. Cynthia looks up. The roof of the chamber isn’t nearly as solid as it had seemed by night, and daylight now filters down through gaps in the rock. She nudges Lucina.

“Hey! Wake up! We might not be stuck in here!”

Lucina blinks groggily up at her, then seems to realize she can see her and bolts upright. She looks up.

“Thank Naga it didn’t collapse on us when I was cutting up the wall,” she mutters, examining the patchy ceiling. She draws Falchion and motions Cynthia away. Cynthia urges Belfire up and back from the center of the chamber. Lucina ignites Falchion and holds it up. The ceiling is a good five feet above the tip of the blade. Lucina jumps and swings, but she gets nowhere close. Cynthia spies another series of barrels and drags one into the center of the room. She holds it steady while Lucina climbs up. There’s still a gap, but before Cynthia can try to stack anything else, Lucina leaps and swings again. She’s close enough now, and Falchion cuts through the rock above them.

The entire ceiling caves in, raining fist-sized chunks of earth down into the chamber. Lucina hits the ground hard and Cynthia ignores the rocks to cover her. One hits the back of her head and she sees stars.

When it’s over, Cynthia wipes rock dust from her eyes and squints up into early morning sunlight, blinding after days underground. Lucina coughs and sits up, dislodging a rain of pebbles.

“That was maybe not my most brilliant plan,” she admits. Cynthia coughs a laugh. Belfire’s head appear in the opening to the tunnels. Cynthia waves at the pegasus, who begins picking his way daintily through the rubble to them.

“Ready to see the sky again?” Cynthia asks him. He rears his head eagerly and she laughs again. “Me too.” She pushes herself to her feet and offers a hand to Lucina. She brushes herself off as best she can and swings into Belfire’s saddle. Lucina climbs stiffly up behind her. Cynthia gives Belfire the slightest urging and her laughter echoes behind them as he leaps straight up. They turn in tight circles, spiralling up into the air.

Empty fields spread out below them. There is only rolling grass for miles, and when they’re high enough they can see the glint of sunlight on water stretched like a ribbon across the earth. Belfire’s wings beat and he takes them higher. Emmeryn’s Vale lies just out of sight, and beyond it, Ylisstol. Belfire cries his joy to the winds and they glide forward in the early morning in peace.


	11. part 10: yarne

Yarne races through the trees on four feet, tracking Nah by the whoosh of wind beneath her wings. Shadows reach for him around the trunks as night falls over the forest. They keep moving for another two hours after sundown, until Yarne thinks his legs will give out entirely. He finally stumbles to a stop in a clearing sheltered by a rocky overhang and shifts back to his human form, nearly fumbling his beaststone. Within a minute, Nah lands heavily in front of him. Morgan has hardly slid from her back before she is shifting, too, slumping to the ground and letting her dragonstone fall from weak fingers. Morgan hands it back to her and pulls her to her feet just long enough to settle her under the overhang. Yarne forces himself up and makes it under the rock with her, still trying to catch his breath. Morgan sheds his purple coat and begins bustling around to create some semblance of a campsite. Yarne feels a little bit of guilt for not helping, but he’s too tired to even stand just now.

Before long, Morgan has a small fire going. He disappears and Yarne tenses, wondering if either he or Nah could put up a fight like this, but before he can work himself into a frenzy Morgan reappears with a pot and a few bowls. Yarne has no idea where he found them. There’s a spring at the edge of the clearing and he fills the bowls with deliciously cool water for Nah and Yarne. He vanishes into the trees again and returns with an armful of green. It doesn’t make for a very filling meal, but it’s better than nothing, and soon Yarne’s eyes are growing heavy. He jerks himself upright, and catches Morgan’s gentle smile.

“Get some sleep,” he says quietly. “I’ll watch.”

_But you watched last night,_ Yarne doesn’t say. He can barely keep his eyes open, and he lays down and is asleep in a heartbeat, as if he’d just been waiting on Morgan’s assurance.

Morgan shakes him awake again just after dawn. There are dark bags under his eyes and his face is paler than it should be, but he smiles brightly at Yarne.

“Morning!” Yarne grunts and rises stiffly. He doesn’t think he moved at all after collapsing under the stone overhang last night. Morgan moves away and wakes Nah, and after a breakfast of water and some wild carrots they’re away, Yarne dodging through the woods and Nah with Morgan gliding as low as she can over the roof of the forest. They’re still three days from Ylisstol, the last two of which will be in open fields. They’re faster than the Risen in these forms, but they don’t have the Risen’s undead stamina, and they’re tiring. The poor food and constant running are taking their toll, especially on Nah’s giant dragon body. Morgan tries to give them as much rest as he can by night, getting his own while Nah flies, but nothing about their situation is rest_ful_ and they are racing their own bodies as much as the Risen pursuing them. By the next day, Yarne is tired enough he forgets to fear the thousand ways this could go wrong and loses himself to the rhythm of his feet against the ground.

Ylisstol is within sight when their strength finally gives out. The sun is setting and it casts shadows of the city far enough out that Yarne can touch them. They stop because they have to, and Morgan hands Yarne and Nah the last of the wild greens he found the day before and squirreled away in the many pockets of his coat. Yarne finishes his before he realizes Morgan has none of his own. If their pace holds, Yarne thinks they can at least make it to the city in thirty minutes at most, and then they will- Naga willing- be safe. From the Risen, at least. Yarne breathes deeply and holds his beaststone before him.

Nothing happens. Yarne feels panic rising in him and tries again, but still, nothing. To his left, he hears Nah cursing her own stone.

“It’s no good,” she says, defeat dripping from her voice. “I’m exhausted.”

“Me too,” Yarne admits. He sinks to a crouch in the grass. “And we nearly made it, too.” Morgan stands above him, looking between him and Nah.

“Hey, we’re not done yet! The city’s right there, and we’ve still got our legs, right?”

“Easy for you to say,” Yarne mutters, not quite quietly enough. “You haven’t been using yours all day.” He sees Morgan flinch and immediately feels bad, but he’s just so _tired._ On exhausted human legs, it will take them at least another hour to reach Ylisstol. Maybe even two hours. If the Risen are half as close behind them as they fear, they’ll never make it.

“Fine then! I’ll carry you guys the rest of the way!” And the way Morgan says it, Yarne thinks he just might. He’ll certainly try, at any rate. Yarne groans and struggles back to his feet. He hears Nah’s pained sigh as she follows. They stumble forward together.

In the end, it takes them nearly three hours to cross the plains. It’s in part a misjudgement of distance in the twilight and in part the cost of their mad race from Imrynvol. They’re halfway there and Nah can barely stand on her own, so Morgan pulls her arm over his shoulders and half-carries her. They’re three-quarters and Yarne trips in a hidden hole and falls. His ankle screams in pain, but he stands through force of will and keeps on.

By the time they cross the threshold of the city, full night has fallen. Yarne wishes he could be relieved now that they’ve finally made it, but all he can think of is the ghosts and their reaching hands.

“Morgan!” A familiar voice shouts from above them. A pegasus as dark as the night sky swoops down and lands in front of them. A blue ribbon flutters in the starlight as the pegasus’s rider slides down from its back and rushes towards them. She whispers a word and an orb of dim light blinks into existence above her outstretched hand. “Wow. You guys look terrible.”

Her brother laughs, but it’s weak, especially for him. “Just give us a nap and some food and we’ll be fine by morning!”

With Morgan’s help, Yarne and Nah are laid over the pegasus’s back. Morgan supports her brother, who looks worse than Yarne feels in his sister’s wan magelight, and leads them deeper into the city, to a building Yarne knows as the Shepherd’s barracks. Most of the others are there already, and they’re surrounded by well-known voices as soon as they enter the building. There is a warm light and the smell of fresh-baked bread, and Yarne is sat at a table and he eats what appears in front of him and his ankle itches and the angry pain in it fades in a burst of red light, and he sees Nah to his left and Morgan to hers, and he is asleep at the table for ten minutes before he even notices.

\---

The three of them sleep for an entire day, and when they wake they eat enough for several days- especially Nah. Some of the bags have gone from Nah and Morgan’s eyes, but their faces are still too pale and too thin. Yarne knows he can’t look any better, but after a long sleep and a full stomach, he feels so much better by comparison to the day before that he thinks he could challenge the Risen on his own if need be.

Once all three of them are awake and moving, the others descend on them to trade stories and reassurances. Between bites of another meal, Yarne learns that three days earlier, Cynthia and Lucina were met by blue-Morgan, Owain, Severa, and Brady by the river through Emmeryn’s Vale. They arrived in the city and were met by Gerome and Noire, who had been the first to arrive. Inigo, Laurent, and Kjelle were the only ones missing now.

Two more days pass without any sign of them. Severa allows a ghost to pull her into the past, giving them all a panic when she doesn’t reappear for nearly an hour. When she does, she’s loaded down with two sets of pegasus tack, one for blue-Morgan’s black pegasus (apparently also named Morgan for reasons Yarne doesn’t understand) and one for her own light-grey Dawn Clouds. When the sun rises the next day, their fliers go out, Nah, Cynthia, and Gerome leading and Severa and blue-Morgan in the rear. Yarne watches them and tries not to worry about the fact that half of their number just left again. He asks Owain about the new pegasi to distract himself, and Owain launches into a flowery retelling of their escape from Imrynvol:

As the Risen had breached the keep, Morgan had run back into the hall and by luck or fate ran directly into Owain, Brady, and Severa, who she then led to the hunters’ entrance on the other side of the castle. They’d followed the trail into the hills for two days before they came upon a hidden grove full of pegasi. Some of them had remembered the humans from the Vale, and after another day had consented to Morgan and Severa as riders. They had left the grove not a moment too soon, as the Risen were hot on their trail. They had been traveling by night ever since, hoping that the darkness gave them enough freedom to fly in safety. Somewhere along the way, Morgan had lost her coat, and she has been bemoaning the fact ever since.

The sky is darkening again when their friends finally return. Kjelle is laying across Nah’s back and Inigo and Laurent ride behind Severa and Morgan respectively. Yarne and the others are just inside the gates to the city, several of them pacing anxiously. Brady is swinging his staff in nervous circles, the red gemstone glowing dimly. Noire’s bow is strung and she’s perched on what remains of the walls, and Falchion burns in Lucina’s hand.

Nah lands with a heavy impact in the middle of the street and Severa is by her side in a flash, pulling Kjelle down and helping her hobble in Brady’s direction. Nah shifts back to her human form to make space for Morgan the pegasus and Dawn Clouds. There is a bloody scratch down her cheek.

“There are Risen behind us- no more than half an hour,” she says quickly. Brady moves between Inigo, Kjelle, and Laurent, his staff glowing. “We need to get further in.” Lucina nods sharply and waves them up the street. Minerva and Belfire are still circling overhead.

Kjelle and the others don’t look at their best, but they straighten up and are at the head of their group. Lucina takes the rear, Falchion like a brand against the falling darkness. Brady is hovering behind the new arrivals, clearly displeased that he isn’t allowed to finish his work. They make it to the curious looping fountain when Gerome alights beside them.

“The Risen have made it to the gates, but none of them are entering the city,” he says. Cynthia is still in the air, making low passes along the curve of the outer walls. “I don’t understand why, but they haven’t set foot inside the walls.” Lucina nods, face troubled, and they march deeper into the city, avoiding the ghosts mostly by habit at this point.

They retreat all the way to the palace, somehow both the most volatile and the most stable location, temporally, and after Brady has satisfied himself that everyone is whole, they sleep, together again and all the more at ease for it. They alternate watches, but neither the Risen nor the city’s ghosts trouble them.

Yarne stands on the balcony of Lucina’s rooms, where they have managed to sleep fourteen full-grown warriors in a brilliant display of spatial management, and watches the city. There is a shadow along the walls, a mass of Risen larger many times over than the force that had tried to siege them at Imrynvol. They still haven’t entered the city. The others are stirring behind him, raising a number of muffled curses and sleepy questions and Yarne thinks that maybe they don’t all fit in here quite as neatly as they thought they did the night before.

Morgan- red-Morgan, though Yarne has privately been thinking of him as _his_ Morgan since sometime in the middle of their flight through the wilds- appears at his shoulder with a bowl of food. “Has anything changed?” he asks.

Yarne shakes his head. “They’re just standing there. What are they waiting for?”

“I don’t know,” Morgan says. He’s watching the army, too. Yarne wonders what he sees that the rest of them don’t. “I suppose they could be trying to starve us out, but they could have done that more effectively at Imrynvol.”

“Yeah, but… we escaped Imrynvol,” Yarne feels compelled to point out. “So maybe they couldn’t.” Morgan waves a hand.

“We escaped Imrynvol because we got a great big warning that we were under attack when they started trying to blast down our walls. Not to mention that it’s many times easier to encircle a castle than an entire city the size of Ylisstol.” Morgan snorts. “We’re actually in a far better position now than we were there- unless something stops these ghosts, they _can’t_ starve us out- though I guess they probably don’t know that part.” Yarne nods thoughtfully, and decides to appreciate the fact that they can slip food and other supplies back through time with them when the ghosts take them, however disorienting the experience is.

“I’m very glad you’re on our side,” he says. Morgan grins.

“Me too.”

They don’t wander far from the palace for the rest of that day or the next, and still the Risen do nothing. They’re too far to tell if their numbers are growing in any appreciable way, and none of them are inclined to get closer. _At some point,_ Yarne thinks fatalistically, _it really doesn’t matter anyway. One thousand Risen would overwhelm us just as effectively as two or three or ten thousand._

On their third day in the palace, Morgan finds Yarne again.

“You know a Morgan in your time, right?” he asks. “Are they Lucina’s sibling?”

“No,” Yarne says. “As far as I know, they’re an only child. Why?”

Morgan shrugs. “Trying to figure things out. Nah said the first Morgan she knew was Lucina’s sibling. Does yours have a brand on their hand?”

“Yes.”

Morgan makes a frustrated sound. “So does Nah’s. But I was talking to Lucina and she said her brother Morgan didn’t, and my sister and I don’t have any brands either.”

“Are you just trying to figure out if you’re related to Lucina?” Yarne asks.

“Among other things, but yes.”

“Have you tried Falchion?”

“Falchion?”

“Yeah,” Yarne shrugs. “All the stories say the Exalt’s bloodline can use it. If you guys really are siblings, you should be able to use it.”

“That’s a great idea! I’m going to go talk to Lucina! Thanks!” And Morgan runs off. Yarne blinks at the empty space he had just occupied and shrugs.

The next day, Cynthia spots a figure near the front gates- inside the walls. She lands Belfire on Lucina’s balcony, and soon they’re all marching back down the hill together.

They meet the figure within sight of the gates. Lucina stops several feet away and the rest of them spread out behind her. The stranger is familiar- there is a statue with their face just a few blocks up the street. They wear the same purple coat as the twins, and white hair shows under their raised hood. Their head is bowed and their arms are loose at their side. It’s Robin- but their body language is all wrong. There’s no way it can be the kind tactician Yarne has come to know with the Shepherds.

The twins are pale, and they step forward to flank Lucina, hands raised, fire flickering around their fingers. Blue-Morgan is wearing the coat now.

“What are you doing here?” asks his Morgan. Yarne hears the shake in his voice, all too familiar after their week on the road. His hand goes to his beaststone.

“Ahh,” the stranger sighs. Their voice creaks like an angry wind through a dying forest, and there is something under it, something ancient and vast, and if Yarne held any lingering doubt that this was not Robin, that voice would banish it. He knows who this is, who it must be, but he can’t let himself think it, because if he does he knows he will lose his nerve and he refuses to abandon his friends.

“That is no way for a child to greet a parent, is it?” They spread their arms and something purple flickers around them. There is a flash of purple, and of white, and a dozen voices shouting and now Lucina is charging, and the air itself explodes. Yarne is thrown like a ragdoll away from the human vessel of the Fell Dragon. He impacts head-first with a stone wall and the world goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rules for morgans: robin's kid. memory problems. probably associated with grima somehow, whether they like it or not. did i miss any?


	12. part 11: kjelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then they spend a very long day getting beat up by structural failures and doing small-scale time travel

Kjelle braces her shield against the ground as not-Robin explodes with purple-black light. Laurent’s shimmering wards cover as many of them as possible, but they’re spread out in a line and everyone from Yarne over is sent flying by the sheer power of Grima’s attack. The force that overwhelms Laurent’s working and makes it through still flattens the rest of them. Kjelle leans into her shield but even so she is pushed back a dozen feet, her armored boots shrieking against the stone. She keeps her feet, if barely, and in a heartbeat she is charging. Columns of orange fire collide with Grima, but when they clear Kjelle can see no effect. She leaps over Lucina, who is struggling back to her feet with a fire in her eyes to match Falchion’s, and slams into Grima shield-first.

She bounces off as if she tried to batter down a castle. She growls, catches her balance, and drives forward with her spear. Lucina is coming from the other side, Falchion blazing, and Grima draws and parries with a sword Kjelle recognizes as Robin’s. Lucina’s eyes widen just a fraction in surprise, but she pivots on one foot and is swinging again. Grima’s sword comes up and Kjelle rams her spear into his shoulder. The Dragon grunts and the sword stops rising. He ducks under Lucina’s blow and Kjelle’s spear snaps in two, leaving a foot of wood jutting from his back and Kjelle with a useless weapon. She throws it aside and draws a heavy dagger that a gift from the ghost of her mother.

Grima backs away from them. His hood has come down and his body’s white hair is wild and loose, and two extra sets of glowing red eyes are burned into the face. He grins, and six eyes move, tracking something Kjelle cannot see. He stretches out a hand and Falchion arcs down. He vanishes.

Kjelle spins and sets her back against Lucina’s, suddenly glad she replaced what parts of her armor she had been forced to leave at Imrynvol. Everyone is shouting and turning in circles, but there’s no sign of Grima. 

“Where is he?” Cynthia is mounted, spear at the ready.

“Morgan!” Lucina shouts. Both twins turn. “Can you find him?” She still holds Falchion in a guard.

The twins look at each other, and Kjelle can’t follow the conversation in the glances and the tilts of their heads, but she knows by the set of their shoulders that they aren’t optimistic. She hears a shriek of laughter from a ruined house, with an echoing undertone she’s come to associate with the city’s phantoms. Something clicks. 

“The question isn’t where- it’s when.” They all turn to look at her. “The way he disappeared- it’s just like when the ghosts grab us.” Red-Morgan’s mouth forms a perfect O and his sister shouts for Laurent. Within a minute they have Lucina carving a broad circle into the nearest patch of flat stone with Falchion. Kjelle can’t follow the mages’ conversation any better than she could the twins’, so she keeps a wary eye out for any sign of Grima.

“Got it!” There’s a string of arcane words and the world jolts like they are so many bugs being shaken in a glass jar. A wave of green ripples out from the array, and in its wake there are _thousands_ of ghosts. They’re washed out and pale in a way that’s more reminiscent of the projection spell than of the ghosts that walk the streets, and their sounds are muted and indistinct until Kjelle singles one out from the blur to listen in on. Kjelle eyes it distrustfully.

“Morgan, what is this?” Lucina asks. Three separate ghosts- all from different times, by their dress- pass through her, but she doesn’t disappear.

“It’s the projection, but modified. It kind of just shows… everything.”

“Everything?”

Morgan shrugs. “It’s the best we can do without any time. Do you see him?” Kjelle is already searching the green ghosts. Inigo takes the hand of a nearby ghost and is outlined in green for the time it might take to ask a question and get an answer. Kjelle copies him, reaching out and touching the shoulder _of a young girl, no more than ten. The girl looks up at her._

_“Who are you?”_

_“My name is Kjelle.”_

_The girl grins. “I’m Irene! Where did you come from? Oh, and why are you green?”_

_“Why am I..?” Kjelle looks down at her arms, but they appear to be the right colors. The world around her looks to be all the right shades as well. “I don’t really know. I think I’m a ghost.” The girl gasps and Kjelle goes to one knee before her. “I’m looking for someone- he’s got messy white hair and a long purple coat. He might have some red designs on his face. Have you seen him?”_

_The girl shakes her head. “Sorry, no idea who you’re talking about, Kjelle the ghost.”_

_Kjelle nods. “Thank you for your time.” _

_She releases the girl’s shoulder, and hears her calling: “I hope you find_ your friend!” as Kjelle falls back into the real. A few seconds later, Inigo reappears from the mass of green beside her. He shakes his head and reaches out for an old man hobbling past.

“I’ve got him!” Cynthia cries from above. Belfire dives and Kjelle follows, grabbing Inigo’s hand long _enough to blink into his time and pull him away from_ the old man and readying her dagger, which seems a pitiful weapon with which to fight a dragon.

They catch up to Cynthia just as she is thrown bodily back into their true time, scorched and bloody. Brady helps her up and she points into the green crowd, teeth gritted. Owain sees whatever she’s found and leads them on. He pulls ahead, reaching out, and he catches a phantom sleeve and vanishes in a flash of green before any of them can reach his hand. Kjelle keeps her eyes locked on Owain’s hazy green shape as she runs, and so she sees him fall beneath a toppling building and lose his tether to the past. He breaks back into true time with a scream, clutching at his arm. Kjelle catches sight of a ghost pointing and whispering about a downed building and she reaches.

_“Did you see that man run past?” One woman asks, in that particular tone of scandalized reserved for those of high society unexpectedly encountering the less fortunate. “What a mess! And just who are you, young lady?” The last comment is directed at Kjelle, who stands out like a sore thumb in her mismatched armor and has just grabbed the woman’s sleeve._

_“White hair, purple coat?” The woman nods, raising her hand to her throat. “Which way?” The woman sputters._

_“Which..? Do I look like the kind of woman who associates with-”_

_“Which way?!” Kjelle demands. The woman turns her nose up and Kjelle nearly drops her in exasperation._

_“I saw him- this way,” a young man standing behind the woman says. He takes off down the street and Kjelle releases the snotty woman_ and stays fixed on the green figure as he runs down a street, turns a corner, and runs full-tilt into a building that’s collapsed in the real. Kjelle stops, panting, and the young man emerges again, looking around in confusion. Kjelle grabs _his shoulder and he jumps._

_“You were just-”_

_“Which way?”_

_“Er. Right. This way.” He leads her into the building, and keeps shooting looks at her armored fist still clamped on his shoulder. Kjelle feels someone else take her other hand and knows her friends are following. They cross an empty room and exit into a back alley, and the young man starts running again and Kjelle stays close by. They turn another corner and there stands Grima, hands raised towards another building. A library, Kjelle thinks, in the same instant light flashes from Grima’s hands and it comes crashing down. Kjelle’s guide yells in outrage and charges forward, and she is content to follow him until he gets closer. Once Grima is within her range, she lets go of him_ and locks her arms around the _Fell Dragon, who is still in another time. Kjelle doesn’t try to move him. She just holds on and waits for her friends to make it to her._

_A small face peers around Grima’s shoulder and blinks at Kjelle. Kjelle curses. Grima laughs. He raises a hand towards Kjelle as if in benediction and she ducks her head. She can feel the weight of his spell building, but the heavy release never comes. She risks a glance up, and sees his hand transfixed with an arrow. Down the street, Noire stands over their guide, her foot planted firmly between his shoulder blades as she releases three more arrows in rapid succession at Grima. One bounces off of Kjelle’s armor but the other two are true and sink into Grima’s arm. The child held close to his chest screams and Kjelle surges up, reaching for them, but before her hands touch them an invisible fist catches her square on the breastplate and sends the world spinning._

She crashes to the ground and watches the sun jump across the sky. The stone beneath her is uneven and there is pressure on her chest, digging into her ribs and slowly crushing her lungs. Her breath is fast and shallow and she just can’t seem to move, to lift herself up, and all she can hear is her own breathing and she knows it’s too fast and the sun is dimming and she doesn’t know what time she is in anymore.

The pressure on her chest lifts and she can breathe again, and she gasps deep breaths and blinks against the red light above her. Kjelle lays on the ground and for a minute she just _breathes,_ until she can think again and make sense of the voice beside her calling her name.

“Kjelle! Hey, come on, you’re fine. Why don’t you sit up and yell at me for cutting open your armor already?”

_That_ at last makes it through the hazy cloud in her head and she bolts upright, ignoring the soreness in her ribs. “You _what?_” Brady grins at her.

“There you are.”

“What did you do to my armor?!” She looks down at herself and sure enough, her breastplate is gone. Her arming shirt is crusted with dirt and wet with her own blood. She sees the breastplate a few feet away, the straps sawed apart and the entire front crushed. “Brady!”

He crosses his arms. “Hey, all I did was cut a few straps. You have Grima to thank for the rest of the damage.” He pulls himself up with his staff and runs across the street Kjelle is now lying in the middle of. She sees Noire on the ground there, and hobbles over after Brady, casting a longing look at her breastplate, which is so mangled you would be forgiven for trying to put it on inside out. There’s a tingly weakness in her arms and legs that she doesn’t like, but she knows it will fade soon enough. Typical healing magic. Brady’s staff glows and soon he has Noire up, coughing weakly and rubbing at a line of bruises on her arm.

“That should keep you two together for now. Don’t try to fight again today, alright?” He doesn’t wait for their agreement (which is good, because Kjelle has no intention of giving it) and runs down the street. Kjelle assumes it’s where the rest of their friends have gone and she stands and offers a hand to Noire.

“As if I’m staying out of the fight with the godsdamned Fell Dragon.” Noire smiles and accepts Kjelle’s hand, and there’s an edge to it, a sharpness that Noire is near always lacking. It fades a little when she reaches for her bow and finds only a pile of splinters beside her. Kjelle shrugs.

“Do you have a knife?”

Noire nods and draws a slim blade with a point like a needle and a blade like a reed. The edge is back in her eyes. “Let’s go.”

They lope down the street after Brady, who has long since vanished. They stop at a corner and search for any sign of their friends, but there’s nothing. Something bumps into Kjelle’s back _and she pivots and catches a stranger’s wrist. A startled soldier in Ylissean armor stares back at her and attempts and awkward half-bow, which is difficult with Kjelle still holding his wrist immobile._

_“Lady Kjelle! I thought you were at the front gates still.” Kjelle sweeps her gaze across the scene. It’s nighttime, but the city is lit with fire and she can hear the sounds of battle. There are two other soldiers behind this one, and they all look like they’ve seen a fight recently._

_“My spear broke,” she says and one of the other soldiers holds his out in silent offering. She nods at him and takes it. “And Noire needs a bow,” she adds after a second thought._

_“Lady Noire is alive?” the third soldier gasps. She hurriedly strings her bow and unslings her quiver._

_“Yes,” Kjelle snaps. She takes the offered weapons and is back_ in true time before the soldiers can ask her any more questions. She hands the bow to Noire.

“Apparently we’re ladies some day.” There are shouts in the real just two blocks away. “Come on!” It’s a shame she has no time to appreciate the convenience of the ghost-supplies.

By the time they reach the source of the shouts, Gerome is on the ground and Minerva is hovering over him, refusing to allow even Brady close. Gerome is bleeding heavily, though, and Kjelle steps into Minerva’s space with her shield raised. “Just back off for a minute, you overprotective lizard!” Minerva shrieks and scrapes her teeth against Kjelle’s shield as red light reflects off her scales. When it fades, Kjelle lowers the shield and steps aside. Minerva nearly bowls her over in her haste to reach Gerome, who’s now sitting up and asking Brady something. Kjelle rolls her eyes and scans the sea of green for a hint of her friends.

There! She takes off running and Brady shouts something after her, but she’s lighter than normal without her breastplate and she’s faster than him even with it. She hears Noire’s steps behind her, and Brady’s heavier tread, and after a moment the beat of Minerva’s wings. She knows she’s vulnerable without her full armor, but there’s no time to hunt down a new set and adjust it for her in the hundred pasts around them, so she sets her jaw and runs.

They find Laurent next, nursing a bleeding leg. Brady stops to heal him and Kjelle follows his directions onwards. She passes Severa, and Noire stops to help her despite Severa’s protest. Kjelle runs on, but next it’s Inigo and Yarne and she pounds to a halt at Inigo’s side. There’s blood coming from his nose and mouth, and his eyes are unfocused, but he’s alive. Kjelle sits him up and helps Yarne to his side. Yarne drops his shattered beaststone on the ground to support Inigo.

“He’s headed for the palace,” Yarne tells her. There’s iron in his voice and he holds her gaze. “He’s trying to split us up. It’s just Nah, Lucina, and the twins now.” Kjelle curses.

“Kjelle! Where is he?” Owain runs into the square, which Kjelle recognizes now as the crowded market where they had first started slipping through time. The more mundane ghosts (ha ha, she thinks) are about even in number with the projected green ones now.

“The palace,” she says tersely. Owain adjusts his course without breaking stride. Kjelle drops a kiss to Inigo’s pale forehead, nods at Yarne, and chases Owain.

“How far back is Brady?” she asks when she catches him.

“He was with Severa when I passed through,” Owain says between breaths. Wings flap overhead and Minerva screams by. Owain reaches out and grabs a ghost, catching Kjelle’s hand as he disappears.

_“Owain?” A girl asks. “What-”_

_“No time, Amicia. We have to get into the palace.”_

_The girl’s eye flick over Kjelle, but she nods, all business. “Third passage. This way.” She leads them at a run down a series of narrow alleys until they reach a tiny door hidden behind a bush. They’re at the outer walls of the palace grounds. “Hope it’s suitably urgent,” Amicia says with an impish grin. She drops Owain’s hand _and runs back the way they came. Owain pushes the dried-out husk of the bush aside and reveals the door, which is locked.

Kjelle shoulders past and slams her shield into the door. It shatters, raining splinters. She gestures Owain forward.

“After you.” Owain grins and leads the way through the short tunnel and into the grounds, which at present are pristine and full of life under nighttime stars. Owain takes a garden path to a stone archway, and on the other side of the archway the halls are silent and dawn-lit and a funeral bell tolls. Owain knows the palace though, and Kjelle follows his sure path deeper in. They’re headed for the throne room.

“So who was that?”

“Really, Kjelle? Right now?”

“Just curious, really.”

Owain sighs good-naturedly. “She’s an old friend. I wasn’t really sure she would recognize me, but I figured it would do no harm to try.”

Kjelle eyes him. “She’s a priestess.”

“Yeah?”

Kjelle shrugs and follows him around a corner.

When they break into the throne room, the floor is smooth and uncluttered, but the upper two thirds of the room are missing. There’s scaffolding around the edges and the foundations of pillars, but it looks as if the room is still under construction.

In the center of the room, Grima stands and faces down Lucina. Falchion blazes in her hand. The twins are circling around Grima in the shadows, and Nah is on the edge of her transformation, her dragonstone glowing. Kjelle and Owain barge into the middle of the standoff. Grima smiles at them and his body blurs as he stretches into his massive dragon body.


	13. part 12: owain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip owain but i am really bad at writing you, which is why you get an action chapter instead of a feelings chapter

Nah moves first, blurring into a dragon herself before Owain can react. Her talons reach for Grima, grabbing, and she lifts. She spirals up through the unfinished ceiling with the Fell Dragon, struck in the instant of his own transformation. Owain watches as Grima grows in the air, breaking away from Nah’s claws and expanding. Within seconds, he dwarfs her. She twists around his head, a pale patch against his immense black body. His neck twists after her, but she is much smaller and much, much faster. Owain soon loses her against the sky, but he can hear her roaring a challenge at Grima.

Wingbeats, much lighter than Nah’s and miles lighter than Grima’s, herald Gerome’s arrival. There’s dried blood down his face and Minerva looks ready to snap at anyone who gets too close, but they’re still alive and Owain breathes that much easier. Lucina runs to the center of the room.

“We need to help Nah,” she says. Gerome looks up and nods without comment. He offers a hand to Lucina, and before Owain or anyone else can protest, Minerva is back in the air and speeding for the battling dragons.

“Great. What about the rest of us?” Kjelle spits behind him. There are more wings, and Cynthia descends on Belfire, Morgan-the-pegasus trailing behind her and Severa on Dawn Clouds. Blue-Morgan sprints forward and is in the saddle in a heartbeat.

“Don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to go be a distraction!” She grins and Morgan-the-pegasus takes to the air.

“Hey! Wait for me!” Cynthia shouts and follows. Severa rolls her eyes and pats Dawn Clouds. She meets Owain’s eyes and nods once, and then she is away, too.

“Fancy flying bastards,” Kjelle mutters. The throne room shimmers and shifts into a seamless, finished whole, decorated for a festival of some sort. The roof closes off and Kjelle curses at it. Owain allows a tired smile onto his face.

“Surely the power of your curses alone should bring down the Dragon,” he says. “We can call it-”

“Do _not_ finish that sentence,” Kjelle growls. Owain smiles wider. She groans in frustration. “We ran all the way up here, and the first thing that happens is flying.” There’s a sound like thunder above them. 

“Hey, Morgan,” Owain calls. Red-Morgan is standing at the edge of the room, staring up at the ceiling. “Do you have anything that will let us see what’s happening?” Morgan tilts his head, then raises his hands. A glowing white circle appears in the air before him and he points it at the ceiling and releases it. The circle rises and expands until it hits the ceiling, where it stops. There’s a dim flash and then they can see through the circle into the sky.

Grima is far enough above Ylisstol that even he seems small. Nah is visible only because of her own size, and the others are barely suggestions of shapes. They could be birds, for all the detail Owain can make out. Brady enters the throne room, leading Laurent, Inigo, Noire, and Yarne. They all look beaten, and Owain looks down at himself and sees he is just as scratched up. Morgan catches the new arrivals up, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from the fight in the clouds. 

There is a flash of white against Grima’s dark hide, and another thunderclap. Something detaches itself from the larger mass and falls. And falls. And falls. Right for them. _Oh shit,_ Owain thinks. It looks big enough to crush the throne room, or at least a sizable portion of it. Owain grabs the nearest arm and starts running. 

They flee the throne room just in time- there’s a series of crashes, glass and stone and something denser colliding and falling together. The palace shakes and Owain careens into a wall. Less structurally sound stretches of the corridor buckle, and by the sound of it, many areas of the palace fare no better. The dust settles and they pick themselves back up, and there is one more impact from the direction of the throne room. 

Kjelle is the first one back in the room and Owain is only a step behind her. Inside, the air is filled with stone dust that Laurent clears out with a muttered word. 

Owain looks at the dark shape draped over the crushed stone for several seconds before he realizes. It’s a wing- a massive black dragon wing, long and narrow and smoking at one end. The ceiling is ruined again, and sunlight streams through unimpeded. Someone stands from the middle of the mess- Grima, purple coat barely even singed, but with one of his glowing red eyes burned away.

Minerva shrieks through the ceiling, wings tucked close. Gerome’s long-handled axe swings below her neck like a pendulum as she pulls up with a flare of wings. The axe swings forward and crunches into Grima’s human chest with the sound of metal on wood. It sticks, and Gerome releases the shaft of the axe as Minerva darts away. Owain jumps onto the severed wing and runs light-footed towards Grima.

There are more wings above and Lucina falls with a battlecry, Falchion more fire than blade. Grima ducks away and Falchion bites instead into the wing, jarring Owain. He keeps his footing and leaps for Grima, who draws a jagged shortsword and engages. Owain presses forward, and it seems neither Grima nor Robin- if there has ever been a Robin in this body- are masters of the blade, and Owain scores three cuts on his sword arm. On any mortal opponent, it would come close to crippling them, but Owain’s sword isn’t biting as deeply as it should, and when Grima strikes back and he is forced to parry, the force of the impact nearly jars his sword from his hand. Gerome’s axe is still embedded in Grima’s chest and Owain strikes along its blade, driving the point of his sword in and widening the wound.

Grima grunts and grabs the axe-shaft with one hand. He breaks it off as easily as Owain would break a dry twig- and then swings it like a club at Owain’s head. Owain drops, wrenching his sword free and cutting for Grima’s leg. Grima’s foot comes down _on top_ of the blade, and Owain watches in horror as it snaps in two. Grima laughs and steps back as Lucina comes for him. Falchion cuts a line of white fire through the air and carves a short line into Grima’s shoulder before he can retreat. He snarls and fires an orb of dark energy at Lucina, but it passes harmlessly over her head and she is in his space again. Owain stands and pulls a dagger in his off-hand and tries to circle around Grima.

The wingbeats are the only warning he has to duck as Cynthia charges in, lending Belfire’s strength to her spear, which she drives forward into Grima’s shoulder. It should skewer the Dragon like a piece of overripe fruit, but it penetrates at most half a foot and when he turns, it dislodges and falls away. _Now that’s just not fair_, Owain thinks. Cynthia echoes the sentiment above and retreats. Severa and Kjelle appear on the top of the wing and they join in the attack, striking opportunistically, darting in and away to harass Grima. Yarne joins them, and then Inigo. Whenever there is a lull in their close attacks, arrows or blasts of fire or lightning fill the gaps.

Of them all, Lucina’s attacks are the most brash. Having tasted the Fell Dragon’s blood, Falchion's fire has grown. It now envelops Lucina’s hand entire and extends another foot beyond the point of the blade. White fire blazes from her left eye, too, curling up into her hair, though she doesn’t seem inconvenienced by the flames at all. Owain’s arm is warm, and when he looks down he sees his own Brand is burning, too, though not quite as brightly. Lucina charges in and Grima retreats before her, not even raising his own blade to meet her anymore. Despite his avoidance, the flames lick out and he hisses in pain. Lucina presses the attack, but her aggression undoes her and she slips on the uneven surface of the wing. She goes down on one knee and Grima smiles, moving in for the kill. Owain throws himself forward and catches Grima’s descending sword on the crossed blades of his dagger and his shattered sword. It barely slows Grima, and Owain’s wrists scream in protest, but it buys enough time for Lucina to pull back. Owain twists away from the sword and feels it thud into the flesh of Grima’s own dismembered wing. 

“Owain!” Lucina’s voice calls behind him and he feels warmth on his hand. He drops the hilt of his faithful blade and finds Falchion in its place. He swings up with Naga’s Fang, aiming high to anticipate Grima’s recovery. The Fell Dragon screams and three red eyes burn away.

“_Enough!_” Grima roars. Black-purple explodes out of him, too fast even for Laurent’s best wards, refined in the months since their last battle with Grima, and they are all thrown away. Owain hits the ground beside Lucina, Falchion still clutched in his hand. They pull themselves up with a shattered pillar and take in the mess around them. Owain hands Falchion back to Lucina and only regrets it a little.

Grima looms above them on a hill of stone and flesh, and he writhes with power. Owain steals a glance around the room, his heart rising that much more for each of his friends he lays eyes on. The Morgans are just a few feet to his left and Inigo is to his right, and beyond Inigo there is Kjelle and Severa and Brady, and Yarne is on the other side of the twins and with him Noire and Laurent. Loose stone clatters from the roof and Owain looks up and sees Nah perched on the edge, her scales blackened and torn. Gerome and Cynthia peer in from the other side of the throne room. Owain grins to see them all still there, and still fighting.

Grima roars, and from the air he pulls three spinning orbs dense with power. They orbit his hand, and he speaks. “Time is a strange thing. Wouldn’t you agree? It has been one thousand years and yet, somehow, here we are again. You. Me. This city. It is… fitting.” The orbs shoot out. One flies at Brady, and Severa throws herself in its path, and one flies at Nah, who roars and fights it with her own breath, and the third flies for Owain and Lucina. Owain is too slow, this time, but Lucina is not, and she strikes the orb with Falchion. It cleaves in two, but she is still thrown bodily into Owain and they both go down in a tangle of limbs and crash into the pillar behind them. Falchion falls away from Lucina’s hand and spins away, and the white fire playing across their Brands dies. Grima turns on the twins, who are watching in horror.

“You have done well,” he tells them. They draw back, but there is nowhere for them to go. “Now. Would you like your memories restored?” Their faces go slack, and Owain knows this is the one thing the Fell Dragon could offer that could even possibly tempt them. Morgan had told him as much herself, on the long flight from Imrynvol. The shapeless mystery of their pasts has haunted them both for two years- and if Nah’s future is any indication, it will do so for many years more. Assuming, of course, that they survive this fight.

“That sounds like a trap if I’ve ever seen one.” Severa’s voice is unsteady, but it is strong. She is on the ground and Brady is at her side, and Owain catches the reflection of light on water on his face. “What’s the damn catch?”

“The catch is the memories,” Morgan says. He shoots a glance at Lucina and Owain. “Who knows what they contain?”

“Ahh,” Grima sighs. “All of you are so clever, aren’t you? Tell me, what is your choice?”

Morgan’s blue ribbon flutters as she stoops and picks up Falchion. She takes her brother’s hand and closes her eyes. He links their fingers.

“It’s true. We’ve wanted our memories back for as long as we can remember. Not that that’s very long at all, of course, but we’ve been searching for a way to get our memories back any time we had a chance in the last two years.” He takes a step forward, pulling his sister after him. Lucina cries out. Grima steps towards the twins, and Morgan takes another step forward. “There are only a few things we know for sure- our names. Robin’s face.” They are nose-to-nose with Grima now, and Owain is still tangled with Lucina and he thinks something is broken. He can’t stop this. “We know your voice, and the Risen.” Morgan stops, and he squeezes his sister’s hand. “We remember precious little else, but hey! That just means the world is full of surprises, right?”

Owain bears Naga’s Mark on his arm and Lucina in her eye. Morgan still holds Falchion at her side.

They pulse now with white fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact! these morgans are full twins, but they have no brands of any sort and only f!morgan can use falchion
> 
> another fun fact: i should maybe have like. at least looked over this chapter another time before posting but! i haven't acted that sensibly in years and i don't plan to start now


	14. part 13: morgan (blue)

Morgan squeezes her eyes shut and blocks out everything but the feel of her brother’s hand in hers and the ridges of Falchion’s hilt against her palm. She focuses on the sword and begs it to do something, anything. She tries to reach it with all of the arcane sense she has, but there is no response. _Come on!_ she thinks at it desperately. She hears Lucina’s voice in the back of her head. It’s only been a day and a half, but it feels so much longer ago, now.

“You can’t be afraid of him,” Lucina had told her, adjusting Morgan’s stance and gesturing to the old tree stump. Morgan slipped back into her own guard, better for her smaller frame. “You can’t try to order him around, either. It’s a meeting of equals.”

“Lucina, just how awake is Falchion?” Morgan asked from his perch on a low stone wall. Lucina shrugged.

“It depends on who you ask, I think. I’ve always thought of him as a friend of sorts, but I’m still not sure if I imagined his voice or not.”

Morgan nodded solemnly. “That sounds like something Owain would say.”

Lucina laughed. “Well, maybe he’s onto something after all.” Morgan listened to them carefully, then raised Falchion and struck down at the stump. Wood cracked.

_You’re Lucina’s friend, aren’t you?_ Morgan thinks at Falchion now. _Please. She needs help. We can help her._ There’s a flicker against the back of her eyelids. _This is what you were made for, isn’t it? To fight Grima?_ The flicker grows. She can hear the sound of her brother’s voice. He’s right here. _Are you ready?_ The flicker dissolves, only to appear again in a white starburst.

“That just means the world is full of surprises, right?” her brother says. She opens her eyes, and she can feel heat on her right hand. Grima’s unburnt eyes in her father’s face widen and lock on the blade. She lunges.

Grima screams as Falchion sinks deep into his stomach. The fire is so bright Morgan can no longer see the balde. She only knows where it is because she is clutching the hilt. The white flames blaze all around her, but all she feels is a gentle warmth, like the sun in early summer. Grima screams again and rips himself away. His weight falls off of Falchion and the flames reach towards him, chasing after him even as he retreats, stepping on a trailing shred of the familiar purple coat and falling flat.

Holding Falchion is like holding a star in her hands and the heat of its fire is growing. Morgan drops her brother’s hand and steps forward. She tries very, very hard not to see her father when she brings Falchion down in a two-handed cut like she would use to split wood. Grima is screaming and burning and Morgan thinks she hears laughter in the back of her head. There is a burst of black-purple light but it doesn’t touch her. There are voices but she can’t understand them. There is fire all around her and it is starting to burn. There is one voice, different from the others. She hears it only in her own mind.

_Fellblood,_ it whispers. A chill runs down her spine and it is very suddenly at odds with the heat all around her. She is standing in the middle of fire and it _hurts._ She tries to drop Falchion but she can’t. Her hand will not obey her. She whimpers, and through the white she can see her brother reaching for her. _Fellblood._ She shrinks away from him.

“Morgan?” his voice makes it through. She backs away. “What’s wrong?”

_Fellblood!_ The voice is overwhelming and everywhere, and she thinks it might be Falchion. She is burning. She can’t let go of the sword. White light fades to black.

\---

Red light. White light. Black and purple and midnight blue. Five stars in a net of gold. A fall. Confusion and an all-encompassing wrench of loss. Red light again, like a beacon. Voices, calling her home.

\---

Morgan opens her eyes. She is being supported by someone from behind. Lucina leans over her and her brother is just beyond, being restrained by Owain. Morgan frowns. Lucina’s hair is too short.

Breath tickles her forehead and she looks up. Brady is above her. He drops his staff to his side and the gemstone atop it goes dark. Brady sighs, and it’s choked. “Can you guys please stop this. A guy can only take so much in one day.” Morgan shifts, and her skin pulls in funny ways. All eyes focus on her.

“Morgan?” Lucina says. “How do you feel?”

“I…” she tries to find her voice. “I don’t know.” She sees her brother struggle against Owain, but he can’t break away.

“Lucina, is Falchion under control yet?” Owain calls. Lucina turns aside and fidgets with something at her side. There’s a clatter of metal against stone to the right.

“It’s safe,” Lucina calls back. Owain releases Morgan and he rushes to her side.

“What happened?” he demands, eyes searching hers. She can read his concern and his fear, both carefully restrained.

“Fellblood,” she half-whispers. Morgan’s brow wrinkles. “Us. We’re Fellblood. Falchion didn’t like it. Mother always did say to stay away from it. Always thought it was just because it was sharp.”

“Mother..?” Morgan’s eyes widen. “You remember something.” 

“I guess,” she says. Everything is still fuzzy, almost like a dream, except none of her dreams have ever left her this sore afterwards. She sits up slowly. She sees Falchion, sheathed on the ground many feet away from her. Morgan follows her gaze and his mouth twitches.

“Asshole sword,” he mutters. She snorts.

“Did we win? Is Grima gone?”

Lucina’s hand is on her shoulder. “You did it. He’s done.” Morgan breathes deeply.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says. She’s not sure if she means the throne room or the palace or Ylisstol in general. Lucina nods and waves the others away from the massive black wing that dominates the room. Morgan allows Lucina to support her out of the room. She could walk on her own, but her cousin’s steady strength is comforting.

Morgan stops short when she sees Inigo. His hair is such an ordinary shade of brown. _That’s not right,_ she thinks. She lets Lucina pull her forward, though. She tries to recall the day before. Yes, Inigo’s hair was brown yesterday. It has been since he tumbled out of the portal in Imrynvol’s courtyard. Why then does she think it should be pink?

She barely hears the others’ conversation as they pick their way back to Lucina’s rooms. They are untouched, and it seems like a miracle. Then again, with the fluidity of time in the city, it could just be another slip. A cool breeze blows in from the balcony and Morgan shivers, trying to draw her coat closer around her. There’s no coat. Her brother shoots her an apologetic smile.

“The fire got the coat. Sorry.”

“Sorry? It was your coat!” Morgan laughs.

“Which means I’m extra sorry!”

They are all exhausted, and half of them are asleep before the sun sets. Brady tries to be everywhere at once, checking them all and trying to convince them not to take any more stupid risks. Morgan thinks most of their risks today were quite sensible, as far as such things go, but the look Brady gives her when she says as much borders on murderous.

“Yeah! Perfectly sensible! Just you and your brother within arm’s reach of the Fell godsdamned Dragon, with a sword that wants you two dead just slightly less than it wants the dragon dead, because it can’t really differentiate between friend and foe because it’s a _sword._”

“I didn’t know Falchion was going to burn me, too!” she protests. Brady pokes her in the chest with the butt of his staff.

“That’s my point!”

“It didn’t try that yesterday, though. Why would I expect it to try today?”

Brady grumbles and wanders off to harangue Severa for jumping in front of Grima’s attack for the third time that day. She notes that they are keeping Falchion well away from her and her brother. Morgan sighs and watches the sunset. She tries to organize her thoughts.

_I am Morgan,_ she starts. She knows that, and nothing screams _Wrong!_ in her head, so she figures it’s true. _I have a brother- two brothers? Morgan is my twin brother, and sometimes people call one or the other of us Marc but we are both Morgan. We chose that for ourselves. I have two brothers. Morgan and I are the same age but Owain is a few years older than us._ That gives her pause. Owain. Lucina is her cousin. _My mother’s name is Lissa and my father’s name is Robin. Morgan’s mother is Robin?_ That gets a twinge of incorrectness. _Morgan’s parents are also Lissa and Robin._ That does not. Morgan sifts through her mind, discovering memories and facts as if they have always been there. Maybe they have been, just hidden away. She’s not sure what brought them forth now. She thinks about the relationship she and her brother have to Grima and digs for answers.

When she finds them, she leans out over the rail of the balcony and gasps for breath in the cool night air. She hears footsteps behind her.

“Morgan? Are you alright?” Laurent. She closes her eyes and leans her forehead against the cool metal.

“I know why Grima offered us our memories back,” she says. She can feel Laurent’s eyes on her back. “He thought we would come back. We-” her voice fails her and takes several deep breaths. She looks up at Laurent, who is watching her impassively. “You were right to distrust us, when you first arrived.”

“And yet, when it came down to it, you were the ones who saved us,” Laurent points out quietly. Morgan shrugs one shoulder.

“It doesn’t change what we did.”

“What did you do?” The question comes from curiosity, simple and pure, and Morgan knows there is no malice behind it. Still, she shies away.

“Do you want to know?”

“Yes,” Laurent says immediately. He pauses. “But only if you are willing to tell it.” Morgan nods and sniffles a little.

“I don’t, but I think someone else should know.”

“Would you rather tell your brother?”

She shakes her head. “No. Not unless he asks. It’s… he loves the life we built at Imrynvol with Nah, and with you guys once you got here. I won’t break that for him.” Laurent nods in understanding. Morgan checks inside, but everyone else is asleep by now. The stars are bright and cold.

“We’re the ones that destroyed Ylisstol,” she says very quietly.

“Our projection spell showed otherwise,” Laurent disagrees. She shakes her head.

“Grima’s breath might have been what flattened everything, but we opened the portal.” Her breath shudders. “In our own time, Grima came to us in our father’s body. He told us there was a way to undo the wars that had decimated Ylisse, and we believed him.” She can’t hide the bitterness or the self-recrimination in her voice. “We hadn’t seen our father in years, and we wanted so badly for it to be him, so we went with him. He took us through a gate, but something went wrong. Or maybe it went right, from his perspective. We came through and we had forgotten why. He told us we were there because we were going to help him beat his enemies and save his home. He may even have believed it. He gave us access to a massive library and set us to developing a portal. It was the work of years, but when it was finished, we traveled to Ylisstol. We rented an empty building and spent two weeks preparing the spell. The portal opened, and Grima came through.” She falls silent, picking at her memory of those two weeks in “enemy” territory.

“If you were still in the city when Grima came through, how are you still alive?” Laurent asks. She smiles without humor.

“We had wards to protect us from the time slip- that was an intentional effect, stapling all of Ylisstol together throughout time. Anyway, the wards were intended to keep us in our own little bubble, so we wouldn’t get displaced. We weren’t expecting Grima to destroy everything, and without the wards that would have included us. There’s something about his breath, though, that causes magic to fray. The portal wasn’t as effective as we designed it to be- though it was effective enough, it seems- and neither were the wards. We lost consciousness some time during the attack, and after that we woke up without any memories not far from Nah.” She shrugs. “We’re younger now than we were then, I think. Not sure why.” She watches Laurent, whose eyes are distant.

“I can see how that would be a lot to take in,” he says at last. “There are a few things I don’t understand.”

“Only a few?” Morgan says with a small smile. “That’s more than I can say.”

“A few immediate things,” Laurent amends. “Why does your brother believe Robin is his mother?”

“Which one?”

“What?”

“Which brother? Er-” Morgan freezes. “Right. Apparently Lissa was our mother and Robin was our father.”

“Making Owain your brother.” Laurent nods.

“Yeah. With all the times our brains got scrambled in those years, it’s amazing _anything_ we have in our heads matches up. Inasmuch as I can believe what I have now, we’re blood twins and Robin was our father. I don’t know why he thinks Robin is our mother.”

“That was going to be my next inquiry- your ability to wield Falchion, such as it is, marks you as Exalt-blooded.”

Morgan nods and yawns. “It’s all a mess.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Laurent says quietly. His face is very serious. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t believe we were or are wrong to trust you and Morgan.” Morgan blinks, taken aback.

“Thank you for listening,” she says. Laurent nods and after a moment goes back inside. Morgan sits and watches the stars for awhile longer before following.

Morgan approaches her the next day, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Morgan sighs and resigns herself to another uncomfortable conversation.

“I’ll tell you, if you want to know,” she says. “But… I’m not sure if you will thank me for it.”

Her brother nods. “I understand. But if I don’t know, I’ll spend my entire life wondering. And besides,” he adds, “you shouldn’t have to deal with it alone.” She smiles, grateful and a little sad, and tells him.

“So why did Falchion return your memories?” he asks when she is done.

“I don’t know. They’re already fading, though.” When she had woken that morning, she had reached for a memory of her mother, a family dinner, and found it faded and riddled with holes. Their time with Grima was still mercilessly clear.

They stay in Ylisstol for another two days, recovering and watching the city. Their green projection fades after the first twenty-four hours, but the rest of the ghosts remain. They have gotten better at navigating the time slips, and soon they have replaced or repaired their damaged equipment and supplied themselves. The Risen no longer ring the city. They vanished in the night after Grima fell. After some debate, they decide to return to Imrynvol. Nah and the twins have called it home for two years, and Ylisstol is full of shadows of the past. There are vague mentions of returning to their own times, but for the most part they avoid the subject like the plague. Morgan’s memories fade almost completely by the time they reach Imrynvol. They encounter no trouble on the road, and until they reach the besieged keep, they can forget that they have just fought a war again. 

Imrynvol’s gates are still in ruins, but apparently once the Risen had chased them out, they had lost interest. They spend the rest of the week cleaning up the castle and making it more than a few useable chambers and storerooms. Morgan tries her best not to think about goodbyes, but she can’t help but feel that their peace will end, and soon. She begins preparations for another time-travel spell like the one that had brought them here in between long talks with the others. Soon everyone knows that she and Morgan are Owain’s siblings, and both Owain and Lucina seem a bit put-out. Owain tells them that he had been looking forward to being a bad-influence cousin, not a responsible older brother. Morgan laughs at him and tells him he can still be a bad influence if he wants.

It’s strange, to have so much peace and so much free time, and like all good things it cannot last.


	15. part 14: brady

Brady is the first one to approach the twins. His knuckles are white on his staff and he tries not to stare at the Lifestone glowing in its setting.

“Our world is still in trouble,” he says to them. “More than that, the rest of our friends are still fighting, and they’ll be waiting on this.” He nods to the red gemstone. “Is there a way for us to get back?”

Red-Morgan is sympathetic and blue-Morgan is quiet, but they assure him that they’ll have the spell ready in a few days, if they need to leave that urgently. They caution him that it probably won’t be exactly the moment he wants to return to. He nods and thanks them and leaves them to their work. 

Brady seeks out Severa next. Despite his best efforts, she still favors her left side, where Grima’s dark orb had nearly killed her. He’s still mad at her about that, however logically she tries to justify taking the hit. _“You’re the only one who understands healing magic” she says. “You have the gemstone that we need to get home” she says. Other people can fuckin’ learn! The twins are plenty clever._ He’s given up berating her about it, and he’s pretty sure she thinks she’s won the argument, but he definitely has not let it go.

“I talked to the Morgans,” Brady says when he finally finds Severa, tending to Dawn Clouds in the courtyard. “They’re working on a way to send us back.” She continues brushing Dawn Clouds’s coat.

“I know time travel is strange and it doesn’t really matter how long we spend here,” she says, not looking away from her pegasus. “But it still feels like we need to leave. I have a bad feeling about what we’ll find when we get back. Nah said they were spread out across five years, before. What happens if we’re too late?”

Brady has no answer to that. He sighs and leans against a wooden post. “There isn’t much we can do ‘bout it either way.” Severa gives an irritated grunt. “We’ll just have to deal with it when we get there. Then. Whatever.” Severa nods and stands, patting Dawn Clouds’s neck.

“She’s coming with me,” Severa announces. Dawn Clouds headbutts her in the chest. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to take care of her right.” Brady smiles and Severa rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to. I can practically hear you thinking it.”

“Thinking what?”

Severa points a finger threateningly at his chest. “You know exactly what.” She spins on her heel and stalks off. Dawn Clouds whickers and noses at Brady’s pockets. 

“I have no idea what treats are acceptable for pegasi, and I am not going to deal with a pissed-off Severa when she finds out,” Brady informs her. The pegasus whines and leaves him be.

Brady climbs one of the surviving towers and looks out over the forest that starts less than a mile from the keep’s walls. All that moves is the branches of the trees, swaying in a cool breeze. He turns at the sound of footsteps on the stairs and finds Nah, back in the body Brady recognizes best. She perches herself cross-legged on the crenellations of the wall.

“Morgan told me you were anxious to return to your own time,” she says.

“Does that mean everyone knows now?”

“Probably.”

Brady chuckles, then sobers. “Yeah. It feels like the longer we stay here, the worse things will be when we go back. I know that’s not necessarily how this whole mess works, but that’s still how it feels.” Nah nods.

“You’re not the only ones,” she says. “Lucina and Laurent have been asking, too. Lucina is Exalt in her time- she has the entire halidom to care for.” Nah sighs and leans her head on her hands. “Morgan says they’ll be ready within the week.”

And very suddenly, their days together are numbered. Brady watches Nah. “What about you? What happens after all of us are gone again?”

Nah shrugs. “The Risen will still be around, like they were last time. More than half the world needs to rebuild. I will help where I can.”

Brady cocks his head. “What about the twins?”

“I don’t know what they will decide,” Nah answers quietly. “They have their own time to return to, should they decide to.”

“And you’ll be alone, if they do,” Brady says, then immediately winces at not having kept that particular thought to himself. Nah smiles at him, but her eyes are sad.

“For awhile, maybe. I will find other people to be friends with in time.” She looks back out at the forest. “I’ve said goodbye to all of you once before. I can do it again. But thank you for worrying about me, Brady.”

The unfairness of the whole situation rankles him. That all of them were pulled forward to what might as well be a completely alien world to fight Grima because there was no one else, that Brady had been pulled from the middle of his own fight with a different version of the Dragon, that Nah would be alone again after outliving them all, that Owain and his group had watched them die and will have to return to that world, that this fight seems to be their eternal task. It’s all bullshit, in his opinion, and next time, they should find someone else for the job and leave him and his friends alone. This would have been the third time, for Nah.

“Yeah, well. Worrying about the idiots around me is most of what I do,” he mutters. Nah laughs.

“And we all love you for it.” She reaches into a pocket and draws out a sphere of green stone, marbled and streaked with silver. She hands it to him. “In case you find yourself in need of another focus after this one.” Brady runs his hands over the stone. It’s impossibly smooth and warm to the touch, probably from its proximity to Nah’s body. The silver threads chase each other around the stone in circles.

“It’s beautiful,” he says. He can feel himself tearing up. “Thank you.” They stay in the tower together for nearly an hour, enjoying each other’s company and saying little.

More gifts are exchanged over the next days as each of them come to the same conclusion: their time is running out. Brady is given no less than four daggers and other small weapons, which he appreciates more in theory than in practice. If he wanted to spend more time putting holes in people rather than fixing them, he would have asked the others for pointers long ago. He keeps them, though.

The day comes. The twins are up hours before the rest of them, covering the courtyard in symbols and ritual modifiers. Brady understands a little here and there, but it’s far more complicated than anything he’s ever seen before. The twins are wearing their new coats, gifts from Severa (not that she will ever admit it, of course). They bear the same design as the original purple coats and they are still technically purple, but one coat is significantly bluer than the originals and the other is more red. Brady has to admit that it does make it far easier to tell them apart at a distance.

Nah is already in the courtyard when Brady arrives, arms crossed in the shadow of the keep’s inner walls. Severa is saddling Dawn Clouds and Cynthia is with Belfire. Minerva is hopping around the edges of the ritual setup, eyeing it and croaking distrustfully. Kjelle arrives soon after, her armor mismatched in design but undamaged and functional. One by one they file into the courtyard while the twins put the last touches to their work. They finish and approach Brady and the others, huddled together near the door to the hall.

“Well, it’s ready,” red-Morgan says with a broad smile. “Now we just send everyone home, I guess.” His voice loses some of its omnipresent cheer as he goes on. He forces the smile back up. “It’s been great to meet you all!”

Lucina is the first to step forward, pulling both Morgans into a tight, lingering hug. She says something to them that Brady can’t make out. He is caught by the shoulder and crushed against Inigo, who leans forward to whisper in his ear.

“You’re going back into the middle of it,” Inigo says. He takes a deep breath. “When you get to the bridge, don’t you dare split up. Do you hear me?” He pulls back just enough to look Brady in the eyes. To Brady’s shock, he sees tears there.

“I hear you,” he says, hugging Inigo back. Inigo releases him and moves on and is replaced by Gerome.

“I wish you the best in your coming battle,” Gerome says solemnly. Brady nods and hugs him. Gerome goes stiff for a moment, but eventually he sighs and returns the embrace.

Around and around they go, and with each goodbye Brady is a little bit closer to sobbing. Owain has a similar warning as Inigo, and Cynthia sniffles when she hugs him and finally Brady starts crying, too. Noire approaches and puts her arms around him.

“I hope we all get back together,” she whispers to him.

“I’m sure we will,” he chokes out, forcing a smile for her. She wipes tears from his face and kisses his cheek.

“We better.”

Nah is the last one to approach him, and he can feel the wetness on his face as he bends down to hold her.

“Promise you won’t end up alone after we leave,” he says. He feels more than hears her sob-laugh.

“I will be fine, Brady. I swear.”

He pulls back and kisses her on the forehead. She laughs again, this time with less sob, and presses her lips to his. He starts in surprise. She grins.

“My body may have been reverted to that of a child, but I’m centuries older than all of you.” She hugs him once more and steps away. “Sorry, that was a little weird.” Brady shrugs and she moves on to Yarne.

When their teary goodbyes are done, the Morgans direct them to three separate circles within the larger array. Nah takes up a position near the middle, kneeling with her dragonstone. Brady stands with Noire and Severa and Dawn Clouds and listens to Morgan’s instructions.

“You have to stay focused on where and when you want to end up. There’s still no guarantee you make it there exactly, but it will help,” he says. “As soon as the portal in front of you opens, start moving.”

“Try to hold on to each other,” his sister adds. “It should help you come out together. Three minutes! Here we go!” They run to their spots and kneel. Brady feels a tingle on the back of his neck as the magic stirs.

“Alright. Noire, up,” Severa orders, helping Noire onto Dawn Clouds’s back. “Brady, you’re next.”

“Huh?”

“Get on the pegasus.”

“Wh-”

“_Now._”

Brady shuts his mouth with a click and climbs up behind Noire. Severa shoots a glance back at the twins. They’re glowing now, and the light is spreading from them and from Nah along the lines of the array.

A blue-white circle opens in the air before them. Noire kicks Severa’s shoulder, and she scrambles up in front of them, whispering apologies to Dawn Clouds.

“Hold on,” she snaps back at them and Brady tightens his hold on Noire. Dawn Clouds whinnies into the darkness of the portal and charges forward, wings spread.

\---

“Brady, come on!”

His eyes snap open. He’s on the ground and the sky is pink with dusk. Severa and Noire stand over him. So does Dawn Clouds. He doesn’t remember the passage through the portal.

“Did we make it?” he asks, sitting up. His body feels fine.

Severa stands and surveys the land around them. “No idea. Not even sure where we are, honestly.” Brady looks around. There are mountains looming above them and forest surrounding. Something about the sunlight on the mountains looks familiar…

“We’re at Imrynvol,” Noire says. “Or at least, the spot where Imrynvol was. Or will be.”

“Well, that’s one question answered, at least. Don’t suppose you can tell when we are?” Noire shrugs helplessly. Severa blows hair out her face. “Let’s get to Ylisstol.”

They prepare to leave when they hear shouts in the underbrush. Severa pushes herself in front of Noire and Brady and draws her sword. “Who goes there?” she calls into the trees.

Three figures break into the clearing where they have landed. Brady’s heart skips a beat, wondering if something has gone wrong, but as the strangers near, he gets a better look and relaxes.

Kjelle’s armor is all one style now, and Cynthia’s hair is as short as he remembers. The future Cynthia had grown hers out some. Nah looks the same, except for her eyes. There aren’t as many layers to them now.

Kjelle stomps towards Noire. Severa doesn’t budge.

“Where the hell did you go?” Kjelle demands. Noire shrinks.

“The future,” she squeaks. Kjelle’s eyes narrow.

“How long has it been?” Severa cuts in. “Since she disappeared?”

“Two weeks,” Nah says. “Did you say the future?”

“It’s a long story,” Severa sighs. “Do we still have time to get the gemstones to Lucina?”

“Yes,” Kjelle answers. “But we have to hurry.”

Severa nods sharply and sheathes her sword. She pulls herself into Dawn Clouds’s saddle. “Then let’s get moving.”

And just like that, they’re back. They’re marching through the woods from Imrynvol to Ylisstol one more time, and Brady isn’t sure if this feels more or less strange than trooping through with a dozen people who had a different past than he did. They’re on their way to fight the Fell Dragon again. Or, if Nah’s story holds truer for this time, they’re on their way to do some more time-travel. Brady sighs and keeps walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brady definitely runs into that risen that tried to eat his staff again and continues to hit it with his staff. he never really gets what inigo means abt the bridge, either


	16. epilogue

Brady, Severa and Noire made it safely to Ylisstol with the rest of Noire’s group of gem-runners. They delivered Gules to Lucina and they fought Grima. They took no losses that couldn’t be healed. They shared their story with their friends in little pieces, between rebuilding and long nights around a fire. They never did meet another Morgan. After many years, Severa convinced Lucina to have a keep built where Imrynvol stood or would stand, and they filled it with records of their travels.

Lucina, Laurent, Owain, and Inigo entered the portal together, hand in hand. The violence of the transport tore them apart, however. Lucina and Laurent landed together, two months after their departure. Owain appeared near Imrynvol only a few days later, and found them quickly enough. Poor Inigo didn’t return for another five years, when he landed on the far end of Valm. It took him months to make it back to Ylisse, where the others had just about given up hope. They were all crying when he walked into the palace, clutching the ring another version of him had given another version of Kjelle and hoping his friends had made it back before him.

Gerome, Yarne, Cynthia, and Kjelle were deposited in the middle of the Shepherd’s camp, flattening three tents and almost starting a fire. They were early- the Shepherds were still weeks away from their first meeting with Robin. 

Morgan and Morgan stayed with Nah. They went out into the world and organized the survivors and pushed back the Risen. When they had time to breathe, they moved people into Imrynvol and restored the old keep to its full glory. They visited Ylisstol sometimes, but most people still distrusted or feared the place.

Nah outlived the twins. She made new friends and became part of other families but, like the friends she had grown up with, they always held a special place in her heart and she kept their memories alive.

Ylisstol never outgrew its ghosts, and it would be centuries before anyone but Nah would willingly set foot in the city. The light of one hundred suns could not cast as many shadows as a city constantly living its own past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finished? i finished something?? something longer than like 4k words??? holy shit


End file.
